The culprits rose from their seats. Peace, the gipsy, Mr. Green, with several others, were conducted to the prison van, or “Black Maria,” as it is termed by criminals. The cadaverous-looking man was abruptly cut short in his narrative. Most persons will doubtless remember having seen the ominous-looking vehicle called “Black Maria” going to and from the various police offices and the metropolitan prisons. It is not unlike a hearse in external appearance, and is suggestive of one of the darker phases of metropolitan and provincial criminal life. On mounting the steps of the sable vehicle Peace was ushered into a passage running up the centre from end to end of her Majesty’s carriage. A number of dark doors were on each side, through one of which he was gently pushed by one of his janitors. He then found himself shut up in a close box on a seat, not too well ventilated nor too clean. This was not the first time he had been inside a prison van. He had not been much impressed with its comfort on the former occasion, when he first made its acquaintance; now he was disgusted with it, for it brought to his recollection the many ignominious circumstances connected with his first conviction. When the outer door was shut and locked the vehicle proceeded on its journey. His companions in misfortune or crime――whichever of the two it might be――did not appear to be so depressed, so moody, and so thoughtful, as our hero. He heard the sound of their voices in his narrow compartment. Some were calling to each other by name, it might be said, in a jocund and familiar manner. Mr. Green’s voice was distinctly audible above the hubbub of the rest. “He’s a sharp sort of a chap that gipsy,” murmured Peace. “I should have liked t’other cove to have time to tell his tale. Ah, this is a bad business. What a spiteful, vindictive old cat!” This last observation of course referred to the relentless Mrs. Pocklington, from whom he could not Hope to secure clemency. He was perfectly well assured that she would “prosecute to the utmost rigour of the law,” to quote the words so often to be seen on warning sign-posts. On arriving in the court-yard of the county gaol, the prisoners were marshalled in a narrow-vaulted passage, where they were made to stand in a row. The deputy-governor, in plain uniform, attended by a cordon of officials, was ready to receive them. He was a tall, military-looking personage, with a broad face and a large bushy beard. He gave a short preliminary cough, and took from the conductor of the prison van a number of papers, one for each prisoner. He glanced at these, and then proceeded to call out the names, which the prisoners answered to, some in a jaunty, and others in a quiet tone and manner. Having satisfied himself that the requisite number of culprits were then and there present, he folded up the papers in a mechanical manner. When this ceremony had been gone through the new arrivals were conducted to their quarters.