e was being cut out of
human affairs as much as it was possible for him to be cut out.

No friends were permitted to accompany him beyond the outer gate--not
even Steger for the time being, though he might visit him later in
the day. This was an inviolable rule. Zanders being known to the
gate-keeper, and bearing his commitment paper, was admitted at once. The
others turned solemnly away. They bade a gloomy if affectionate farewell
to Cowperwood, who, on his part, attempted to give it all an air of
inconsequence--as, in part and even here, it had for him.

"Well, good-by for the present," he said, shaking hands. "I'll be all
right and I'll get out soon. Wait and see. Tell Lillian not to worry."

He stepped inside, and the gate clanked solemnly behind him. Zanders led
the way through a dark, somber hall, wide and high-ceiled, to a farther
gate, where a second gateman, trifling with a large key, unlocked a
barred door at his bidding. Once inside the prison yard, Zanders turned
to the left into a small office, presenting his prisoner before a small,
chest-high desk, where stood a prison officer in uniform of blue.
The latter, the receiving overseer of the prison--a thin, practical,
executive-looking person with narrow gray eyes and light hair, took the
paper which the sheriff's deputy handed him and read it. This was his
authority for receiving Cowperwood. In his turn he handed Zanders a
slip, showing that he had so received the prisoner; and then Zanders
left, receiving gratefully the tip which Cowperwood pressed in his hand.

"Well, good-by, Mr. Cowperwood," he said, with a peculiar twist of his
detective-like head. "I'm sorry. I hope you won't find it so bad here."

He wanted to impress the receiving overseer with his familiarity with
this distinguished prisoner, and Cowperwood, true to his policy of
make-believe, shook hands with him cordially.

"I'm much obliged to you for your courtesy, Mr. Zanders," he said, then
turned to his new master with the air of a man who is determined to make
a good impression. He was now in the hands of petty officials, he knew,
who could modify or increase his comfort at will. He wanted to impress
this man with his utter willingness to comply and obey--his sense of
respect for his authority--without in any way demeaning himself. He
was depressed but efficient, even here in the clutch of that eventual
machine of the law, the State penitentiary, which he had been struggling
so hard to