“They will accept bail, won't they?” said Sewell, adroitly turning the conversation. “I think,” continued he, “this matter can be easily arranged. I will go at once to the Head Office and return here at once.” “We are agreed, then?” said Fossbrooke, in a low voice. “Yes,” said Sewell, hastily, as he passed out and left him. The turnkey closed and locked the door, and overtook Sewell as he walked along the corridor. “They are taking information this moment, sir, about the prisoner. The informer is in the room.” “Who is he? What's his name?” “O'Reardon, sir; a fellow of great 'cuteness. He's in the pay of the Castle these thirty years.” “Might I be present at the examination? Would you ask if I might hear the case?” The man assured him that this was impossible; and Sewell stood with his hand on the balustrade, deeply revolving what he had just heard. “And is O'Reardon a prisoner here?” “Not exactly, sir; but partly for his own safety, partly to be sure he 's not tampered with, we often keep the men in confinement till a case is finished.” “How long will this morning's examination last? At what hour will it probably be over?” “By four, sir, or half-past, they'll be coming out.” “I'll return by that time. I 'd like to speak to him.” CHAPTER XIV. A GRAND DINNER AT THE PRIORY The examination was still proceeding when Sewell returned at five o'clock; and although he waited above an hour in the hope of its being concluded, the case was still under consideration; and as the Chief Baron had a large dinner-party on that day, from which the Colonel could not absent himself, he was obliged to hasten back in all speed to dress. “His Lordship has sent three times to know if you had come in, sir,” said his servant, as he entered his room. And while he was yet speaking came another messenger to say that the Chief Baron wanted to see the Colonel immediately. With a gesture of impatience Sewell put on again the coat he had just thrown off, and followed the man to the Chief's dressing-room. “I have been expecting you since three o'clock, sir,” said the old man, after motioning to his valet to leave the room. “I feared I was late, my Lord, and was going to dress when I got your message.” “But you have been away seven hours, sir.” The tone and manner of this speech, and the words themselves, calling him to account in a way a servant would scarcely have brooked, so overcame Sewell that only by an immense effort of self-control could he restrain his temper, and avoid bursting forth with the long-pent-up passion that was consuming him.