“It’s precious heavy,” grumbled Creede, as he took the bag.
“I dare say it is,” answered Hoskyns, dryly.
“A good many clever brains have been at work on the contents of that bag. It’s weighty with wisdom and common sense—two commodities, Jabez Creede, with which you have never been overburdened.”
Not a word more passed between them till they reached the prison. The distance they had to walk was not great, and Mr. Hoskyns seemed anxious to get over the ground as quickly as possible, turning his face neither to right hand nor left, but going straight on till they halted at the gates. The great prison looked as black, silent, and deserted as some City of the Dead. Hoskyns gave a tug at the bell-pull, and was just refreshing himself with a pinch of his favourite mixture, when a little wicket in the door was opened, and through the bars two keen eyes peered out into the semi-darkness.
“Ha, Warde, is that you?” he said, nodding cheerfully to the pair of eyes. “Rather late to look in upon you, eh? But it’s a matter of life and death—nothing less—that has brought us. Some most important evidence in our favour has turned up at the last moment, and it is imperative that I should see my client without a moment’s delay.”
“It’s long past the hour for visitors, Mr. Hoskyns, as you know; and it would be as much as my place is worth to——”
“Where’s the governor? where’s my friend, Mr. Dux?” interrupted Hoskyns, impatiently. “Fetch him. He’ll put the matter right in a moment.”
“Mr. Dux, sir, is somewhere in the town, and has not yet got home. But I’ll fetch Mr. Jackson, sir; perhaps he may be able to do something for you.”
Jackson, the chief night-warder, was quickly on the spot, and the case explained to him in a few words.
“It’s against the regulations, of course, Mr. Hoskyns,” said Jackson; “but considering the emergency of the case, and in the absence of Mr. Dux, I will take upon myself the responsibility of allowing you to see Mr. Dering.”