"Turn to the right, here!" called Stannard.
Martin, peopling unseen corridors and galleries with old shades out of Eastaville, realized that they had all been shuffling as the aisle narrowed. Ruth coughed in the dust
Their turn led them through an aisle of bales, then into another one between bales and wall with another line of doors (not cell-doors) to the right.
"Why," Martin asked, "do cell-doors look so repulsive when they're painted yellow?"
"I beg your pardon?" demanded Dr. Laurier, adding to the burst of echoes which rolled to upper and outer air. — "Never mind!" said Martin.
Ruth, a gallant little figure in red sweater and black slacks, not quite so tall as Jenny, turned around and smiled at him.
"Here we are," announced Stannard.
Martin's heart jumped a little, then went on (it seemed to him) normally. With the image of Jenny in his mind, with what he had heard about Jenny over the 'phone, he told himself he was the calmest person there. This was going to be easy.
They emerged, one by one, into a completely cleared space.. The beams of the three lamps converged. You could see that the corridor was ten feet wide. Ahead of them, cutting off the corridor, was a grey-brick wall; and into this was set an iron door, with a very small barred opening in it so that you could peer and talk through.
Stannard's breath was noisy in his nostrils. "Here are the premises,’' be explained. "I have not even looked into the rooms. I have done nothing except oil the lock of this door."