Even as he spoke the chaplain entered, leaning on the chief warder's arm. He advanced to the table at which the governor sat, looking Mr. Paley steadily in the face. "Mr. Paley, I have to report to you that I have been bewitched." "I am sorry to hear that, Mr. Hewett." He could not resist a smile. "Though I am afraid I do not understand exactly what you mean." "It is no laughing matter." The chaplain's tone was cool and collected--more impressive than it was used to be. "The man whose name I believe is Oliver Mankell has bewitched me. He was the second man in the third row on my right-hand side in chapel. I could make out that his number was B 27. He cast on me a spell." There was silence. Even the inspector felt that it was a delicate matter to accuse the chaplain outright of lunacy. An interruption came from an unexpected quarter--from the chief warder. "It's my belief that man Mankell's been up to his games about those cells." The interruption was the more remarkable, because there was generally war--not always passive--between the chief warder and the chaplain. Every one looked at Mr. Murray. "What is this I hear about the cells?" asked Dr. Livermore. The governor answered: "Yesterday the men were all locked in their night-cells. This morning they were all locked out--that is, we found them all seemingly fast asleep, each man in front of his cell-door." "They were all locked in except one man, and that man was Mankell--and he was the only man who was not locked out." Thus the chief warder. "And do you suggest," said the doctor, "that he had a finger in the pie?" "It's my belief he did it all. Directly I set eyes upon the man I knew there was something about him I couldn't quite make out. He did it all! Have you heard, sir, how he came to the gate?" Mr. Murray was, in general, a reticent man. It was not his way to express decided opinions in the presence of authorities, or indeed of any one else. Mr. Paley, who knew his man, eyed him with curiosity. "What was there odd about that?" "Why, instead of the constable bringing him, it was him who brought the constable. When they opened the gate there was him with the policeman over his shoulder." In spite of Mr. Murray's evident earnestness, there were some of his hearers who were unable to repress a smile. "Do you mean that the constable was drunk?" "That's the queer part of it. It was John Mitchell. I've known him for two-and-twenty years. I never knew him have a glass too much before. I saw him soon afterwards--he was all right then. He said he had only had three half-pints. He was quite himself till he got near the gate, when all of a sudden he went queer all over." "Possibly the ale was drugged," suggested the doctor. "I don't know nothing about that, but I do know that the same hand that played that trick was the same hand that played the tricks with the cells."