Archie's arrest was a blow to Koerner. He viewed the matter from the German standpoint, just as he viewed everything, even after his thirty-seven years in America. It was a blow to his German reverence for law, a reverence which his own discouraging experience of American law could not impair, and it was a blow to his German conception of parental authority; he denounced Archie, declaring that he would do nothing for him even if he could.
Gusta, in the great love she had for Archie, felt an instant desire to go to him, but when she mentioned this, her father turned on her so fiercely that she did not dare mention it again. On Monday morning, when her work was done, Gusta, dressing herself in the clothes she had not often had occasion to wear during the winter, stole out of the house and went down town,--a disobedience in which she was abetted by her mother. Half an hour later Gusta was standing bewildered in the main entrance of the Market Place Police Station. The wide hall was vacant, the old and faded signs on the walls, bearing in English and in German instructions for police-court witnesses, could not aid her. From all over the building she heard noises of various activities,--the hum of the police court, the sound of voices, from some near-by room a laugh.
She went on and presently found an open door, and within she saw several officers in uniform, with handsome badges on their breasts and stars on the velvet collars of their coats. As she hesitated before this door, a policeman noticed her, and his coarse face lighted up with a suggestive expression as he studied the curves of her figure. He planted himself directly in front of her, his big figure blocking the way.
"I'd like to speak to my brother, if I can," said Gusta. "He's arrested."
She colored and her eyes fell. The policeman's eyes gleamed.
"What's his name, Miss?" he asked.
"Archie Koerner."
"What's he in fer?"
"I can't tell you, sir."
The policeman looked at her boldly, and then he took her round arm in his big hand and turned her toward the open door.
"Inspector," he said, "this girl wants to see her brother. What's his name?" he asked again, turning to Gusta.
"Koerner, sir," said Gusta, speaking to the scowling inspector, "Archie Koerner."
Inspector McFee, an old officer who had been on the police force for twenty-five years, eyed her suspiciously. His short hair was dappled with gray, and his mustache was clipped squarely and severely on a level with his upper lip. Gusta had even greater fear of him than she had of the policeman, who now released his hold of her arm. Instinctively she drew away from him.
"Archie Koerner, eh?" said the inspector in a gruff voice.
At the name, a huge man, swart and hairy, in civilian's dress, standing by one of the big windows, turned suddenly and glowered at Gusta from under thick black eyebrows. His hair, black and coarse and closely clipped, bristled almost low enough on his narrow forehead to meet his heavy brows. He had a flat nose, and beneath, half encircling his broad, deep mouth, was a black mustache, stubbed and not much larger than his eyebrows. His jaw was square and heavy. A gleam showed in his small black eyes and gave a curiously sinister aspect to his black visage.
"What's that about Koerner?" he said, coming forward aggressively.
Gusta shrank from him. She felt herself in the midst of powerful, angry foes.
"You say he's your brother?" asked the inspector.
"Yes, sir."
"What do you want of him?"
"Oh, I just want to see him, sir," Gusta said. "I just want to talk to him a minute--that's all, sir."
Her blue eyes were swimming with tears.
"Hold on a minute," said the man of the dark visage. He went up to the inspector, whispered to him a moment. The inspector listened, finally nodded, then took up a tube that hung by his desk and blew into it. Far away a whistle shrilled.
"Let this girl see Koerner," he said, speaking into the tube, "in Kouka's presence." Then, dropping the tube, he said to Gusta:
"Go down-stairs--you can see him."
The policeman took her by the arm again, and led her down the hall and down the stairs to the turnkey's room. The turnkey unlocked a heavy door and tugged it open; inside, in a little square vestibule, Gusta saw a dim gas-jet burning. The turnkey called:
"Koerner!"
Then he turned to Gusta and said:
"This way."
She went timidly into the vestibule and found herself facing a heavy door, crossed with iron bars. On the other side of the bars was the face of Archie.
"Hello, Gusta," he said.
She had lifted her skirts a little; the floor seemed to her unclean.
The odor of disinfectants, which, strong as it was, could not overpower the other odors it was intended to annihilate, came strongly to her.
Through the bars she had a glimpse of high whitewashed walls, pierced near the top with narrow windows dirty beyond all hope. On the other side was a row of cells, their barred doors now swinging open. Along the wall miserable figures were stretched on a bench. Far back, where the prison grew dark as night, other figures slouched, and she saw strange, haggard faces peering curiously at her out of the gloom.
"Hello, Gusta," Archie said.
She felt that she should take his hand, but she disliked to thrust it through the bars. Still she did so. In slipping her hand through to take Archie's hand it touched the iron, which was cold and soft as if with some foul grease.
"Oh, Archie," she said, "what has happened?"
"Search me," he said, "I don't know what I'm here for. Ask Detective Kouka there. He run me in."
Gusta turned. The black-visaged man was standing beside her. Archie glared at the detective in open hatred, and Kouka sneered but controlled himself, and looked away as if, after all, he were far above such things.
Then they were silent, for Gusta could not speak.
"How did you hear of the pinch?" asked Archie presently.
"Mrs. Schopfle was in--she told us," replied Gusta.
"What did the old man say?"
"Oh, Archie! He's awful mad!"
Archie hung his head and meditatively fitted the toe of his boot into one of the squares made by the crossed bars at the bottom of the door.
"Say, Gusta," he said, "you tell him I'm in wrong; will you? Honest to God, I am!"
He raised his face suddenly and held it close to the bars.
"I will, Archie," she said.
"And how's ma?"
"Oh, she's pretty well." Gusta could not say the things she wished; she felt the presence of Kouka.
"Say, Gusta," said Archie, "see Mr. Marriott; tell him to come down here; I want him to take my case. I'll work and pay him when I get out.
Say, Gusta," he went on, "tell him to come down this afternoon. My God, I've got to get out of here! Will you? You know where his office is?"
"I'll find it," said Gusta.