The jailor with a great show of caution got out a bunch of keys and motioned them to follow.

Up two flights and down a long corridor with peeling frescoes on the walls--nymphs and cupids and garlands of roses; most incongruous decorations for a jail--at last they paused before a heavy oak door.

Their guide tried two wrong keys, swore softly as each failed to turn, and finally with an exclamation of triumph produced the right one.

He swung the door wide and stepped back with a bow.
A large room was revealed, brick-floored and somewhat scanty as to furniture, but with a view--an admirable view, if one did not mind it being checked off into iron squares.

The most conspicuous object in the room, however, was its occupant, as he sat, in an essentially American attitude, with his chair tipped back and his feet on the table.