“For Heaven’s sake consult with your solicitors first,” said Crosbie. “They may think that one of their own agents is the best person to pursue the necessary enquiry in Canada. And now that we have gone as far as we are likely to go into this matter, even though we should confer together for a week, we shall have lunch. My wife and daughter are unfortunately still in Paris--I left them starting on a round of shops--but you will make allowances for a household run for the present _en garçon_.” The lunch was, however, so excellent as to leave no need for any allowance to be made by either of the visitors; and when it was over their host offered, as they expected he would, to show them over the prison. Jack knew that governors of prisons, as well as commanders of cruisers and vergers of cathedrals and superintendents of lunatic asylums, take it for granted that every visitor is burning to be “shown over the place”; and he felt too deeply indebted to Major Crosbie not to afford him an opportunity of exhibiting his hobby at this time. So for the next hour and a half he and Priscilla gave themselves up to this form of entertainment. The Governor spared them none of the interesting horrors of the “system.” They were shown the handsome young bank clerk who, on a salary of one hundred and twenty pounds a year, had managed to keep a motor and to go to a music hall every night of his life for three years without once arousing the suspicion of the directorate; the ex-Lord Mayor (not of London) who had made a fortune by insuring people’s lives (in an American office) and then encouraging them to drink themselves to death; the soldier who, after winning the Victoria Cross twice over, and saving two batteries of field artillery, had taken to beating women in Bermondsey, and had one day gone a little too far in this way; the great financier who had done his best to save the life of the King by standing by in his 300-ton yacht when his Majesty was in no danger, and had a little later been sentenced at the Old Bailey for another audacious fraud; the young man of “superior education” who had done several very neat forgeries, and was now making pants in the tailor’s shop; the ex-officer of Engineers who had lived in a mansion on the Cromwell Road for several years on the profits of writing begging letters, and was now, by the irony of Fate, engaged in sewing canvas, mail-bags in which probably, when he came to be relieved of this obligation, his own compositions would be conveyed to their destination--all of these interesting persons the visitors saw, with many others of equal distinction. And they went away fully satisfied, and with a consciousness of having cancelled a good portion of whatever debt they owed to the Governor.