Oh, how he sighed for liberty at that supremely bitter moment!
The window of his cell was strongly barred and escape was impossible. He climbed up to this, and from it, through a small door, some 10 in. by 4 in., was just able to distinguish the roofs of the houses and the majestic dome of St. Paul’s.
The noise of the street traffic fell faintly on his ears, telling of the world outside—that dark receptacle of crime.
Then he heaved a profound sigh.
Should he ever again be mixing with the throng of passengers in the highways and byways of the great city?
It was a query that he could not very well answer; but even at this time hope did not entirely desert him. There might be some flaw in the indictment—some legal technicality which might be used in his favour. There was no telling—such things had occurred and might again.
Anyway he would hope for the best; as Mr. Micawber was wont to say, something might turn up.
He remained for a long time after this a prey to agonising thoughts—the leading subject of these being Mrs. Thompson whom he now more than ever mistrusted.
There was nobody now but his wife to keep watch and ward over her. It is true his friend Bill Rawton might use some little influence over the erratic woman, but then Bill knew nothing about the Bannercross murder, and he debated with himself if it was advisable even now to make the gipsy acquainted with all the circumstances attending upon that horrible crime.
If this were done, Rawton might desert him at a time when he most stood in need of his service.