A ragged gray moustache drooped from the corners of his mouth and a ragged wisp of whisker hung from his chin. Above was a spacious hall, connected with it by a flight of stone steps, at the further end of which stood an immense grated door, called in the slang of the place "The Jigger," through the bars of which the felons in the upper wards were allowed to converse with their friends, or if they wished to enter the room, or join the revellers below, they were at liberty to do so, on payment of a small fine. His wife met him at the door, and into her hands he delivered his little charge. He had not bothered to take off his raincoat and his umbrella sat dripping on his modern ice cube of a table.
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