To be exact, it was just sixteen hours and twenty minutes. By now the horses would be rested and he might go as swiftly back again. Above was a spacious hall, connected with it by a flight of stone steps, at the further end of which stood an immense grated door, called in the slang of the place "The Jigger," through the bars of which the felons in the upper wards were allowed to converse with their friends, or if they wished to enter the room, or join the revellers below, they were at liberty to do so, on payment of a small fine. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. He could have easily forced it, but preferred a more expeditious mode of reaching the roof which suggested itself to him.
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