The door slammed, and at the next meal Philip received in silence a cup of tea and a nice tea cake. This went on during three days. The good food and rest had already worked a marvelous change in his appearance. He entered the prison looking like a starved dog. When he rose on the Thursday morning and washed himself, no one would have recognized him as the same boy were it not for his clothes.
After dinner, he was tidying his cell and replacing the plates and the rest on a tin tray, when the door was suddenly flung open and a warder cried:
"Come along, Morland. You're wanted at the court."
"At the court!" he could not help saying. "This is only Thursday."
"What a boy you are for arguing. Pick up your hat and come. Your carriage waits, my lord. I hope you will like your quarters as well when you come back. A pretty stir you have made in the papers the last five days."
Philip glanced at the man, who seemed to be in a good humor.
"I will not come back," he said, quietly, "but I wish you would tell me who supplied me with food while I have been here."
They were passing along a lofty corridor, and there was no superior officer in sight. The warder laughed.
"I don't know, my lord," he said, "but the menoo came from the Royal Star Hotel, opposite."
Philip obtained no further news. He passed through an office, a voucher was signed for him, and he emerged into the prison yard, where the huge prison van awaited him. He was the only occupant, just as on the first memorable ride in that conveyance. When he came to the prison from the police court he had several companions in misery. But they were "stretched." His case was the only "remand."