The earl's face just then was considerably lengthened. He stood twirling his whiskers, and gazing at James Howard's very plain handwriting.
"They won't release Cleveland, Howard writes me," said the earl. "Things have taken a cross turn."
Grace closed her book and clasped her hands. Lady Acorn threw down her knitting, and inquired who would not release him.
"The magistrate who has sat to hear the case," replied Lord Acorn. "Sir—what's the odd name?—Turtle Kite. He refuses, absolutely, to release Charles, until the true culprit shall be brought before him—seems to think it is a trick, Howard says."
"Good Heavens!" cried Lady Grace, foreseeing more dire consequences than she would have liked to speak of. "What will become of Charles? What of Adela? Oh, papa! they cannot compel her to appear, can they?—to take Charles's place?"
"I don't know what they can do," gloomily responded the earl. "Hang these aldermen! What right have they to turn obstinate, when a prisoner's innocence is vouched for?"
"And where is the prisoner?" cried my lady.
"Taken back to Newgate. Is to be brought up again tomorrow, to be committed for trial. Well, this is a pretty kettle of fish!"
Grace bit her pale and trembling lips. "Was Mr. Grubb at the examination, papa?"
"No. Grubb's at Blackheath. Has not been up, Howard says, since he went down yesterday. What on earth is to be done?"