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."
"Consider a moment what you are saying, Murray. How are three hundred locks to be tampered with in the middle of the night by a man who is himself a prisoner? One moment-But even that is nothing compared to the feat of carrying three hundred men fast asleep in bed-bed and all-through three hundred closed doors, under the very noses of the officers on guard-think of doing all that singlehanded!"
"It was witchcraft."
When the chief warder said this, Major Hardinge exploded.
"Witchcraft! The idea of the chief warder of an English prison talking about witchcraft at this time of day! It's quite time you were superannuated, sir."
"The man, Mankell, certainly bewitched me."
"Bewitched you!" As the Major faced the chaplain he seemed to find it difficult to restrain his feelings. "May I ask what sort of idea you mean to convey by saying he bewitched you?"
"I will explain so far as I am able." The chaplain paused to collect his thoughts. All eyes were fixed upon him. "I intended to say something to the men touching the events of yesterday and this morning. As I came down to the altar-rail I was conscious of a curious sensation-as though I was being fascinated by a terrible gaze which was burning into my brain. I managed to pronounce the first few words. Involuntarily looking round, I met the eyes of the man Mankell. The instant I did so I was conscious that something had passed from him to me, something that made my tongue utter the words you heard. Struggling with all my might, I momentarily regained the exercise of my own will. It was only for a moment, for in an instant he had mastered me again. Although I continued to struggle, my tongue uttered the words he bade it utter, until I suppose my efforts to repel his dominion brought on a kind of fit. That he laid on me a spell I am assured."
There was a pause when the chaplain ceased. That he had made what he supposed to be a plain and simple statement of facts was evident. But then the facts were remarkable ones. It was the doctor who broke the silence.
"Suppose we have the man in here, so that we can put him through his facings?"
The governor stroked his beard
"What are you going to say to him? You can hardly charge him with witchcraft. He is here because he has been pretending to magic powers."
The doctor started.
"No! Is that so? Then I fancy we have the case in a nutshell. The man is what old-fashioned people used to call a mesmerist-hypnotism they call it nowadays, and all sorts of things."
"But mesmerism won't explain the cells!"
"I'm not so sure of that-at any rate, it would explain the policeman who was suddenly taken queer. Let's have the man in here."
"The whole thing is balderdash," said the Major with solemnity. "I am surprised, as a man of sane and healthy mind, to hear such stuff talked in an English prison of to-day."
"At least there will be no harm in our interviewing Mr. Mankell. Murray, see that they send him here." The chief warder departed to do the governor's bidding. Mr. Paley turned to the chaplain. "According to you, Mr. Hewett, we are subjecting ourselves to some personal risk by bringing him here. Is that so?"
"You may smile, Mr. Paley, but you may find it no laughing matter after all. There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in man's philosophy."
"You don't mean to say," burst out the Major, "that you, a man of education, a clergyman, chaplain of an English prison, believe in witchcraft?"
"It is not a question of belief-it is a question of fact. That the man cast on me a spell, I am well assured. Take care that he does not do the same to you."
The governor smiled. The doctor laughed. The enormity of the suggestion kept the Major tongue-tied till Mankell appeared.
CHAPTER III
THE SINGULAR BEHAVIOUR OF THE PRISON OFFICIALS
Although Mankell was ushered in by the chief warder, he was in actual charge of Warder Slater. The apartment into which he was shown was not that in which prisoners ordinarily interviewed the governor. There a cord, stretched from wall to wall, divided the room nearly in half. On one side stood the prisoner, with the officer in charge of him; on the other sat the governor. Here there was no cord. The room-which was a small one-contained a single table. At one end sat Mr. Paley, on his right sat Major Hardinge, the chaplain stood at his left, and just behind the Major sat Dr. Livermore. Mankell was told to stand at the end which faced the governor. A momentary pause followed his entrance-all four pairs of eyes were examining his countenance. He for his part bore himself quite easily, his eyes being fixed upon the governor, and about the corners of his lips hovered what was certainly more than the suspicion of a smile.
"I have sent for you," Mr. Paley began, "because I wish to ask you a question. You understand that I make no charge against you, but-do you know who has been tampering with the locks of the cells?"
The smile was unmistakable now. It lighted up his saturnine visage, suggesting that here was a man who had an eye-possibly almost too keen an eye-for the ridiculous. But he gave no answer.
"Do you hear my question, Mankell? Do you know who has been tampering with the locks of the cells?"
Mankell extended his hands with a little graceful gesture which smacked of more southern climes.
"How shall I tell you?"
"Tell the truth, sir, and don't treat us to any of your high faluting."
This remark came from the Major-not in too amiable a tone of