e walked down the street.

"There is surely no degradation in being merely accused of a crime," I
answered, without much conviction, however. "It may happen to the best
of us; and he is still an innocent man in the eyes of the law."

"That, my dear Jervis, you know, as well as I do, to be mere casuistry,"
he rejoined. "The law professes to regard the unconvicted man as
innocent; but how does it treat him? You heard how the magistrate
addressed our friend; outside the court he would have called him _Mr_.
Hornby. You know what will happen to Reuben at Holloway. He will be
ordered about by warders, will have a number label fastened on to his
coat, he will be locked in a cell with a spy-hole in the door, through
which any passing stranger may watch him; his food will be handed to him
in a tin pan with a tin knife and spoon; and he will be periodically
called out of his cell and driven round the exercise yard with a mob
composed, for the most part, of the sweepings of the London slums. If he
is acquitted, he will be turned loose without a suggestion of
compensation or apology for these indignities or the losses he may have
sustained through his detention."

"Still I suppose these evils are unavoidable," I said.

"That may or may not be," he retorted. "My point is that the presumption
of innocence is a pure fiction; that the treatment of an accused man,
from the moment of his arrest, is that of a criminal. However," he
concluded, hailing a passing hansom, "this discussion must be adjourned
or I shall be late at the hospital. What are you going to do?"

"I shall get some lunch and then call on Miss Gibson to let her know the
real position."

"Yes, that will be kind, I think; baldly stated, the news may seem
rather alarming. I was tempted to thrash the case out in the police
court, but it would not have been safe. He would almost certainly have
been committed for trial after all, and then we should have shown our
hand to the prosecution."

He sprang into the hansom and was speedily swallowed up in the traffic,
while I turned back towards the police court to make certain inquiries
concerning the regulations as to visitors at Holloway prison. At the
door I met the friendly inspector from Scotland Yard, who gave me the
necessary information, whereupon with a certain homely little French
restaurant in my mind I bent my steps in the direction of Soho.

CHAPTER VII

SHOALS AND QUICKSANDS

When I arrived at Endsley