CHAPTER IV. A CHANGE OF NAME
“Here's your way, sor,” said the policeman, turning into the old City Hall, as it was even then known, and leading me to one of the inner rooms of the labyrinth of offices.
The odors of the prison were heavy upon the building. The foul air from the foul court-rooms and offices still hung about the entrance, and the fog-laden breeze of the early morning hours was powerless to freshen it.
The policeman opened an office door, saluted, and motioned me to enter.
“Detective Coogan,” he said, “here's your man.”
Detective Coogan, from behind his desk, nodded with the careless dignity of official position.
“Glad to see you, Mr. Wilton,” he said affably.
If I betrayed surprise at being called by Henry's name, Detective Coogan did not notice it. But I hastened to disclaim the dangerous distinction.