“Mary Ann,” he called out.
A tall thin woman came out: “Yes?” she said acidly, “what d’you want, John?”
“Give this young lady a drop o’ that brandy I’ve got in the cupboard. Give it her neat—no water, Mary Ann! That Old Prison of ours ’as turned ’er over queer.”
The woman gave a quick look at Jean, and then she ran indoors. A moment later she came back, a small glass in her hand.
Hardly knowing what she was doing, the girl gulped down the brandy. Almost at once she felt better, and the colour came back into her face.
CHAPTER XX
Jean Bower sat in the waiting room of what was called the New Prison. Though she was clad in a warm fur cloak which had just been given her by her uncle and aunt, she felt dreadfully cold. She was miserably anxious and uneasy as to her coming interview with Harry Garlett. How could she ask the man she loved so degrading a question—how make him understand the great importance all those concerned with his defence attached to what she took to be a lying bit of low gossip?
The door of the waiting room opened and Colonel Brackbury walked in.
“Miss Bower? I had the pleasure of meeting you early last May.” And then he shook hands with her warmly. But although he was touched at his visitor’s look of deep sadness and at the pallor of her young face, he hardened himself to say that which he knew must be said.
“I have stretched a great point in assenting to your wish for what practically amounts to a private interview with Henry Garlett. I must ask you to give me your solemn word of honour that you will not hand him, or try to convey to him, anything surreptitiously. Also that you will not make the slightest attempt to approach him.”