“To approach him?” echoed Jean uncertainly.
“There will be a table between Mr. Garlett and yourself. You must not stretch across it and try to shake hands with him, for instance.”
“I quite understand, and I promise to do what you ask.”
“Some time ago a lady was allowed to see her husband, who, like Mr. Garlett, was as yet untried. Although a warder was present at the interview she managed, unseen by the warder, to roll along the floor toward her husband a small ball containing a dose of prussic acid.”
He looked at her significantly, but Jean made no comment. It was to her as if she was living through some awful nightmare.
“I understand that you desire to see Henry Garlett with reference to some matter concerning his defence?”
She answered in a strangled tone: “But for that I should not have asked to see him.”
“I should like you to know,” he said kindly, “that we are doing everything we can to make Mr. Garlett comfortable. In our country a man is accounted absolutely innocent until he is adjudged guilty. Apart from the irksomeness of the confinement, and the not being able to see his friends freely, Mr. Garlett is leading much the same life as he would lead outside, were he, what of course he is not, a recluse. I am taking special pains to see that he has good and nourishing food.”
And then, rather to his surprise, for he really knew very little about human nature, Jean Bower began to cry.
“Come, come,” he said dismayed, “this won’t do! You must do your best to hearten him up, you know.”