on his glittering spectacles and long, clean-shaven face--a face
which would have been simply like an aristocrat's but that a
certain lion poise of the head and long cleft in the chin made it
look more like a very handsome actor's. It was only for a flash
that his face was thus lifted. Then he bent his silver head over
his notes once more, and said, without looking up again:

"I told you, Dr. Quayle, that these men were to go to cells B and
C."

Turnbull and MacIan looked at each other, and said more than they
could ever say with tongues or swords. Among other things they
said that to that particular Head of the institution it was a
waste of time to appeal, and they followed Dr. Quayle out of the
room.

The instant they stepped out into the corridor four sturdy
figures stepped from four sides, pinioned them, and ran them
along the galleries. They might very likely have thrown their
captors right and left had they been inclined to resist, but for
some nameless reason they were more inclined to laugh. A mixture
of mad irony with childish curiosity made them feel quite
inclined to see what next twist would be taken by their imbecile
luck. They were dragged down countless cold avenues lined with
glazed tiles, different only in being of different lengths and
set at different angles. They were so many and so monotonous that
to escape back by them would have been far harder than fleeing
from the Hampton Court maze. Only the fact that windows grew
fewer, coming at longer intervals, and the fact that when the
windows did come they seemed shadowed and let in less light,