“There goes ten of ’em. Old Hoskyns can never want me at this time of night. At all events, if he don’t come soon he won’t find me here. If a man can’t call the time his own after ten o’clock at night, he’s no better than a slave.” The speaker was Jabez Creede, and he was sitting, with a short black pipe in his mouth, over a handful of fire—although the evening was a summer one—in the meanly furnished room which he called his home. In one hand he held a crumpled scrap of paper, the writing on which he now proceeded to read over again for the twentieth time. “Please not to be out of the way this evening, as I may possibly want you on important business.—T. Hoskyns.” “Ugh!” growled Creede in disgust, as he flung the paper into the fire. “One might work one’s heartstrings out for old Hoskyns, and there would never be an extra half quid for a poor devil on pay-day. I wish Mr. Bristow would take to the business. He’s one of the right sort, he is. I wish——” Here he was interrupted by a knock at the door. Presently his landlady entered. “Mr. Hoskyns is waiting below,” said the woman. “He wants you to put on your hat and coat, and go with him.” Creede growled, put down his pipe, rose, yawned, stretched himself, inducted himself into a shabby grease-stained brown overcoat, pulled his battered hat over his gloomy brows, and stumbled downstairs. He had been drinking heavily during the day—indeed, the days when he did not drink heavily were few and far between—and both his gait and his tongue were in some measure affected by his potations. Mr. Hoskyns was standing at the door, carrying in one hand the old blue bag with which Creede had been familiar for years. “Make haste, man alive,” said the lawyer, impatiently. “I want you to go with me to the prison. Some most important evidence in our favour has just turned up, and I must see Mr. Dering at once. Here, catch hold of this.” “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.