“He is, uncle,” replied the boy nervously, and his colour began to go and come.
“Tut, tut, tut, tut!” ejaculated Uncle Paul. “This looks serious, my boy. Well, I don’t know. Perhaps he’s only heard of the visit that has been paid here.”
“I beg pardon, sir; here is Mr Windell, one of the sergeants of the prison guard. Could he see you for a few minutes?”
“Well, I’m rather— Yes, yes, show him in, Mrs Champernowne. Rodney, my boy, you sit still and hold your tongue. I don’t know what this man wants; but you leave it to me.”
Rodd nodded his head, and fancied that he felt relieved, but he did not, for his heart was beating faster than usual, and he was suffering from a strange kind of emotion.
“Good-morning, gentlemen,” said the sergeant, saluting stiffly as he was shown in.
“Good-morning,” said Uncle Paul stiffly. “Do you wish to see me?”
“Yes, sir; only about a little matter upon the moor yesterday. After we left you I did not feel satisfied about those prisoners.”
“Indeed?” said Uncle Paul coldly.
“No, sir. The governor yonder likes to have things thoroughly done, so about three hours afterwards I went over the ground again.”