The half-hour of evening prayers seemed to be an age.
He quivered all over with impatience and anxiety.
There was no help for it—he had to wait patiently. The time having expired, he passed out with the others as usual. As he did so he thrust his finger into the key-hole. An icy tremour shot through his frame.
The needle was still there. Never surely did so insignificant an object have such a powerful effect upon a man as did this little needle. It whispered into his ears delusive words of hope and comfort, of escape and freedom.
If he could only work through his cell door into the corridor, from which the chapel was entered, the rest was an easy matter. He felt assured this could be accomplished, and was confident of his ultimate success.
But much remained to be done. His plan of operations was simple enough in theory, but it had to be put into practice.
It would be no very difficult task to turn his bed-clothes into a rope, and when this was done he could let himself down from the chapel window.
Upon his return from chapel he found Mr. Slapperton awaiting him.
The lawyer had a number of questions to put respecting the leading points in the case. He had a long conference with his client, and as heretofore spoke hopefully of the result of the trial.
Giles Chudley assumed an air of confidence, which, to say the truth, he was far from feeling. However, he humoured his legal adviser, but said nothing about the scheme he had in his head.