Somewhere in the dark reaches of Wednesday morning an idea flashed upon him. It was usual for one of the Deemsters to make an annual examination of the prisons of the island, the time being subject to his own convenience. Stowell determined to make his examination of Castle Rushen now.
At eleven o'clock he was going round the Castle with the jailer. There were two sides to the prison, a debtor side and a criminal side, and they went over both—the jailer complaining of decaying doors and rusty padlocks, and the Deemster, with a sense of shame, pretending to make notes of them, while his eyes and his mind were on other matters.
"Not much chance of a prisoner escaping from a place like this, Mr. Vondy."
"Not a ha'porth! Those old Normans knew how to keep people out—and in too, Sir. But there's one cell you haven't looked at yet, your Honour—the girl Collister's."
"We'll leave her alone, Mr. Vondy. How is she now, poor creature?"
"Wonderful! That cheerful and smart you wouldn't believe, Sir."
"Then she doesn't know...."
"'Deed she does, Sir. But she thinks Mr. Gell, the advocate, is up in London getting her pardon, and she's listening and listening for his foot coming back with it."
Stowell went to bed on Wednesday night also without any scheme for Bessie Collister's escape. But in the grey dawn of Thursday morning, when the world was awakening from a heavy sleep, another idea came to him. The Antiquarian Society of the island had made him a Vice-President when he became a Deemster, and having opened up certain portions of the Castle that were outside the precincts of the prison, they had asked him to inspect their discoveries.
With another spasm of hope, Stowell returned to Castletown.