"Very good; put that down, Crisp. And I suppose he's without food and hungry?"
"I have not tasted food—" began the poor wretch, who stood shivering at the bar.
"Come, no lies," ejaculated the inspector.
"No lies!" echoed the constable, giving the poor wretch a tremendous shake.
"Have you put it all down, Crisp?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well, let him have a bit of bread, and lock him up. He'll get three months of it on the stepper to-morrow."
The poor creature was supplied with a cubic inch of stale bread, and then thrust into a filthy cell.
"What do you think that unfortunate creature will be done to?" enquired Markham.
"Three months on the stepper—the treadmill, to be sure."