Here the usual formalities were gone through. Rupert Gascoigne, as the
Englishman was called, was interrogated, searched, deprived of money,
watch, penknife, and pencil-case; his description was noted down, and
then he was asked whether he would go into the common prison, or pay
for the accommodation of the _pistole_ or private "side."

For sixteen sous daily they gave him a room to himself, with a little
iron cot, a chair, and a table. Another franc or two got him his
breakfast and dinner, and he was allowed to enjoy them with such
appetite as he could command.

No one came near him till next morning, when he was roused from the
heavy sleep that had only come to him after dawn by a summons to
appear before the _Juge d'instruction_.

He was led by two policemen to a little room, barely furnished, with
one great bureau, or desk, in the centre, at which sat the judge, his
back to the window. On one side of him was a smaller desk for the
clerk, and exactly opposite a chair for the accused, so arranged that
the light beat full upon his face.

"Sit down," said the judge, abruptly.

He was a stern-looking man, dressed all in black, still young, with a
cold and impassive face, the extreme pallor of which was heightened by
his close-cut, coal-black hair, and his small, piercing, beady black
eyes.

"Your name and nationality?"