They took her fingerprints sitting at the gray metal desk of Officer Nolte, the virile young buck who had brought her in. They had turned into the street, on the opposite side of which were the flats where Anna lived. Yet an indiscriminating, wrong-headed world gave such fellows all sorts of distinctions. Diedermeyer, sweetheart? He just went in. Directly he saw Anna he accosted her. The first of these, the Press Room, a dark close chamber, near Waterman's Hall, obtained its name from an immense wooden machine kept in it, with which such prisoners as refused to plead to their indictments were pressed to death—a species of inquisitorial torture not discontinued until so lately as the early part of the reign of George the Third, when it was abolished by an express statute. Then a handkerchief was thrown over the cage, to prevent the bird from singing; it was her favourite canary.
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