"They are only private letters," he explained. "The whole matter is ridiculous. You will let me write a note to a friend, who will speak for me?"
"Certainly," said the officer, "provided I see what you say."
Kenneth quickly scribbled a note to Max Finkelstein, and handed it to the officer, who remarked that it had nothing suspicious about it, and placed it in an envelope which Kenneth addressed.
"I shall be released as soon as Herr Finkelstein comes?" asked Kenneth.
"That is doubtful," replied the officer. "It will probably be necessary to bring you before the magistrate to-morrow."
"But I am going to England to-night."
"To England! That is suspicious. Herr Finkelstein may have influence. We shall see."
A short conversation, carried on in low tones, ensued between the sergeant and his superior officer. They were consulting as to where the prisoner should be placed: the cells, it appeared, were full. Ultimately Kenneth was taken to a room on the ground floor. The window was barred and shuttered on the outside, and light entered only by two small round apertures in the shutters.
"A black hole, this," he said to the sergeant.
"It will not be for long, if you are innocent," replied the man.