The same day on leaving Jenny, the Turnkey who conducted me to the gate, offered me congratulations—rather gruff and even forced—on the turn things had taken.

'I assure you, Sir,' he said with feeling, 'that we know generally beforehand what will happen, and we'd quite made up our minds as to your case, spite of Madame's interest. There didn't seem any doubt. Some of us are a bit disappointed: we don't like, you see, for anyone to slip out. Well: there's always disappointments. Would you like to cast an eye on your friends—them that hatched that pretty plot? Come this way, then. I wouldn't like to be in their shoes if it comes to Pillory—and it will.'

So he led me out of the passage into one of the yards. At the sight of the place my heart sank to think how I had myself trodden those flagstones and stepped from side to side of those dismal walls. The place was the Master's side: there were twenty prisoners or more in it. One or two were sitting on the stone bench drinking beer and smoking tobacco: one was playing a game of fives by himself. My two principal witnesses, the Bishop and his friend the Captain, were walking side by side, both in irons. Mr. Probus sat in a corner his head hanging down: taking no notice of anything. Mr. Merridew walked by himself with an assumption of being in the wrong place by accident and with an air of importance, the prisoners making way for him right and left, for the terror of his name accompanied him even into Newgate.

The turnkey called him. 'Merridew,' he said, with familiarity. 'Come and see the young gentleman you tried to hang. Now he'll hang you. That's curious, isn't it? Here we go up,' he turned to me with a philosophic smile, 'and here we go down.'

'Sir,' Mr. Merridew obeyed the call and approached me, bowing with great humility. His cringing salute was almost as nauseous as the impudent brutality which he had shown in the Thieves' Kitchen. 'Sir, I am pleased to make your honoured acquaintance. I hardly expected, in this place where I am confined by accident——'

'Oh! Sir, I did not come here to make your acquaintance, believe me.'

'Sir, I am pleased to have speech with you, even in this place, and if only to remove a misunderstanding which seems to have arisen regarding my part in the late unhappy business. If you will kindly remember, Sir, I merely testified to what I saw, being an accidental eye-witness. The night was dark: there was a scuffle. You will bear me out, Sir—so far—a scuffle—whether you were attacking that fellow'—he pointed to the Bishop who with his friend the Captain was now looking on—'or that other fellow'—he indicated the Captain—'villains both, Sir,—both—who, but for my mistaken kindness, would have been hanged long ago—I cannot exactly say. I may have been—perhaps—we all make mistakes—too ready to believe the other side, and what they said. However, that is all over and, of course, I shall be set free in an hour or two. With expressions of sorrow, for an undeserved imprisonment——' He looked in my face for some expression of sympathy but, I believe, found none. 'No malice, Sir, I hope.' He held out the abominable hand which was steeped in the blood of his victims and rank with the stink of his wickedness. 'I hope, Sir, that if the case comes to trial, I may not see you among the prosecutors.' I maintained silence and took no notice of his proffered hand. 'But indeed, I shall certainly be out in an hour or two: or perhaps a day or two. My case has not yet, perhaps, been laid before the authorities. I am here as a mere matter of form. Ha!—form—in fact I have no business here—no business at all—no business.' His voice sank to a whisper, showing the real agitation of his mind.

'Mr. Merridew, I have not come here with any desire to converse with you.'

'You are not going to bear malice, Mr. Halliday? Be content with exposing two villains. Two will be enough—If you want more there is Probus. He's an extraordinary villain. As for you, Sir, consider: you are a fortunate man, Sir. You ought to be in the condemned cell. You have got off against all expectation, and when everybody, to a man, thought it was a certainty. Had I been consulted by your sweetheart I should have advised her, Sir, I should, indeed, so strong a case was it—to my experienced mind, Sir, I should have advised her, Sir, to buy the cap and the ribbons and the nosegay and the Orange—Oh! a fortunate man, indeed!'

As if he had had nothing whatever to do with the case! As if there had been no Conspiracy!

I was turning away in disgust, when the other pair of villains drew near. I prepared for some volley of abuse and foul language, but was disappointed. They addressed me, it seemed in no spirit of hostility, but quite the contrary. They were lamb like.

'Sir,' said the Bishop, 'what was done by my friend the Captain and myself was done by orders of Mr. Merridew here. He said, "Do it, or swing." So we had no choice. Merridew gave us the orders and Probus invented the plot. "Do it or swing," was the word.'

'You shall swing, too,' the Thief taker turned upon him savagely, 'as soon as I get out. A pair of villains, not fit to live.'

'You won't hang anybody any more,' said the Captain, with defiance. 'Your own time's up at last, Merridew. Your own rope has come to an end.'

'Wait till I get out. Wait till I get out,' he roared.

'That won't be just yet, brother,' said the turnkey. 'Conspiracy's an ugly word, friend Merridew. There's imprisonment in it—and flogging, sometimes—and pillory. But make up your mind for a long stay and be comfortable.'

'Dick,' said Mr. Merridew. He knew every turnkey as well as most of the prisoners. It was said that he often had to go shares with the turnkeys. 'Dick, you know me, of old.'

'Ay—ay—We all know you.'

'We've worked together——'

'That is as may be. But go on.'

'Well, Dick, I am a sheriff's officer. I know all the rogues in London, don't I?'

'Why, certainly.'

'I know where to lay my hands upon every one. I know where they practise and what they do.'

'Correct,' said the turnkey.

'They don't dare to lock me up. Do they? Lock me up?' he snorted. 'Why, if I am kept here long, all the villains will go free. London will no longer be safe. There won't be fifty hangings in a year. Who fills your gaols? John Merridew. Who fills your carts? John Merridew. You know that, Dick. Nobody knows better than you.'

'Correct,' said Dick.

'The judges can't send me to prison. They can't do it, I say. Why—of course—of course——' Again his voice sank to a whisper.

I looked at the man with amazement. He was evidently seeking consolation by delusive assurances. At heart he was filled with terror. For beside the prison, there was the dread of pillory. They might be set in pillory. He knew, none better, that the thief-taker who is also the thief-maker, has not a single friend in the whole world. What would be done to him if he should stand in pillory?

'Let me get out as soon as possible,' he went on, appealing to me. 'Why, Sir, unless I go out the whole criminal procedure of this country will be thrown out of gear. I am the only man—the only man, Sir—ask Dick, here.' The turnkey shook his keys and nodded.

'But they'll give you a heavy sentence, my friend,' he said.

'The only man that can't be spared—the only man—the only man——' Again his voice dropped to a whisper. He turned away babbling and shaking his head, all the insolence gone out of him.

'His power is gone,' said the Bishop. 'He won't get my more rewards.'

'Yes,' said the turnkey. 'But he has had a long innings. Why, he must be nearly fifty. There's a many would envy Merridew.'

The Bishop once more addressed himself to me. 'Sir,' he said, 'I grieve to hear that our friends wrecked the Black Jack and Madame's house. I fear these acts of violence may make you vindictive.'

'Madame herself was brought in yesterday—for receiving stolen goods.'

'Madame? Madame brought here? On a charge——?' The Bishop's face expressed the liveliest concern.

'Why,' said the Captain. 'It's——' A motion of his fingers to his throat showed what he meant.

'Nothing could have been more disastrous,' said the Bishop. 'Believe me, Sir, we have nothing to do with the wreck of the houses, and we were ignorant of this charge, I assure you, Sir. Oh! This is a great misfortune!'

The misfortune, it appeared, lay in the danger—nay, the certainty, that this persecution would make both Madame and myself more vindictive. Now the events of the Trial, when at a word, as it seemed, from Madame—witnesses sprang up in a cloud to confront them with their villainy, made them believe that she had friends everywhere.

'It cannot be,' said the Bishop, 'but she will get off. Who is the principal evidence?'

'Ask the Captain. And that is enough.'

I stepped across the yard and laid my finger on Probus's shoulder as he sat with bowed form and hanging head. He looked up with lack-lustre eyes. I believe that the loss of his money and the result of his conspiracy had affected his brain, for he seemed to pay no heed to anything.

'Mr. Probus,' I said. 'I must tell you that my cousin is now bankrupt.'

He stared without any look of recognition.

'Mr. Probus,' I repeated, 'my cousin Matthew is a bankrupt. I tell you, in order that you may send in your claim with those of the other creditors.'

'Ay—ay—' he replied. 'Very like.'

'Bankrupt!' I said again. 'Even had you succeeded in your plot you would have been too late.'

He nodded without attention.

'And another mass of debts has been added. His wife's house has been wrecked by the mob and all her property destroyed. Therefore her liabilities have been presented to her husband.'

'All gone!' he moaned. 'All gone! The work of an honest lifetime wasted and thrown away. Nothing will ever be recovered.'

'Mr. Probus,' I said, 'the money is gone. That is most true. But more than that is gone. Your character—your honour—it is all gone—wasted and thrown away—none of it will be recovered.'

'All gone—all gone,' he repeated.

The turnkey stood beside me. 'Queer, isn't it?' he said. 'He's lost his money and his wits have gone after it. A money lender, he was. He's put more poor folk into the Fleet and the King's Bench than his friend Merridew has put prisoners here. And he ought to be thinking of something else—his trial and his sentence.'

'His sentence?'

'Well—you see, Merridew, he knows. This one doesn't. The Bishop, he knows—and the Captain—and they don't like it. This man doesn't care. For you see they will certainly have to stand in Pillory—and if the mob don't love money lenders they love thief takers less, and Merridew's the most notorious thief taker in town. Well—it's a wonderful country for Law and Justice. Now, I suppose they poor French would be content to hang up a man at once. We don't. We give 'em an hour's ride in a cart where they sometimes gets roses but more often gets addled eggs. Or we put 'em in pillory where they may get dead cats or they may get flints and broken bottles.'

I came away. The heavy gate closed: the key turned in the lock; the four wretches were shut in once more, there, at least, the prey to the keenest terrors, dying a thousand deaths before they should be taken out for the dead cats and the addled eggs and perhaps the flints and broken bottles.