Marny turned toward me as we reached the prison. "Keep close," he
whispered. "I know the Warden and can get in without a permit," and he
mounted the steps and entered a big door opening into a cold, bare hall
with a sanded floor. To the right of the hall swung another door
labelled "Chief of Police." Behind this door was a high railing closed
with a wooden gate. Over this scowled an officer in uniform.
"My friend Sergeant Cram," said Marny, as he introduced us. The officer
and I shook hands. The hand was thick and hard, the knotted knuckles
leaving an unpleasant impression behind them as they fell from
my fingers.
A second door immediately behind this one was now reached, the Sergeant
acting as guide. This door was of solid wood, with a square panel cut
from its centre, the opening barred like a birdcage. Peering through
these bars was the face of another attendant. This third door, at a
mumbled word from the Sergeant, was opened wide enough to admit us into
a room in which half a dozen deputies were seated at cards.
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