“Are its bolts and bars so strong?”
“Yes, and there is no way out for convicts unless they swim the Neva,” the man replied, grinning with satisfaction.
“Are you not aware of my crime?” I asked, persuasively.
“No, I know nothing about it. My business is not with the crime but with the criminal,” he growled.
“I am an Englishman—a foreigner—and cannot be supposed to know your laws. Is this what you term justice in Russia—to imprison a man without trial?”
“You have had your trial and been condemned. In the sentence passed upon you by the Court you were told the crime for which you must suffer.”
“Condemned!” I cried. “Condemned for what? Why, I have had no trial. I have never been before the Court!”
He turned from me, and as he did so, muttered:
“Ah! just what I thought—mad. These cells below the river always affect their brains.”
In another moment the key turned heavily in the lock, the bolts shot into their sockets, and I was again alone.