It was a neat, efficient-looking room, with a writing-table placed with a business-like regard to the window, and a bookcase surmounted by a pig’s skull, a dissected frog in a sealed bottle, and a pile of shiny, black-covered note-books. Then she dropped the curtain and stepped back into the room. DeSoto, seemed to notice her thoroughly. Its dreariness, like the filthiness of the police cell, was a discovery for her. I went off to round up his wife. “Women know these things by instinct,” she answered. He could not tell by the look of her whether she was glad or sorry that presently she would be free. Then, even as they stood there, the room was plunged into darkness. He appeared to be strangely uncommunicative, though I tried to draw him out. He had only been prevented, indeed, by a fear of Mrs.
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