With iron grating over the windows, the back door heavily spiked, and the front secured by iron bars, any prisoner once locked within could probably be found when wanted.

On the occasion of Keith's arrival, the portion abutting upon the street was occupied by a rather miscellaneous assembly--the drunk and disorderly element conspicuous--who were awaiting their several calls to appear before a local justice and make answer for various misdeeds.

Some were pacing the floor, others sat moodily on benches ranged against the wall, while a few were still peacefully slumbering upon the floor.

It was a frowsy, disreputable crowd, evincing but mild curiosity at the arrival of a new prisoner.

Keith had barely time to glance about, recognizing no familiarity of face amid the mass peering at him, as he was hustled briskly forward and thrust into the rear room, the heavy door closing behind him with the snap of a spring lock.
He was alone, with only the faintest murmur of voices coming to him through the thick partition.