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 voice.
"But in this land it would seem that truth is a thing that wise men shun. It is for telling the truth that I am here."
"We don't want any of your insolence, my man! Answer the governor's question if you don't want to be severely punished. Do you know who has been playing hanky-panky with the cells?"
"Spirits of the air."
As he said this Mankell inclined his head and looked at the Major with laughter in his eyes.
"Spirits of the air! What the devil do you mean by spirits of the air?"
"Ah! what do I mean? To tell you that," laying a stress upon the pronoun, "would take a year."
"The fellow's an insolent scoundrel," spluttered the Major.
"Come, Mankell, that won't do," struck in Mr. Paley. "Do I understand you to say that you do know something about the matter?"
"Know!" The man drew himself up, laying the index finger of his right hand upon the table with a curiously impressive air. "What is there that I do not know?"
"I see. You still pretend, then, to the possession of magic powers?"
"Pretend!" Mankell laughed. He stretched out his hands in front of him with what seemed to be his favourite gesture, and laughed-in the face of the authorities.
"Suppose you give us an example of your powers?"
The suggestion came from the doctor. The Major exploded.
"Don't talk stuff and nonsense! Give the man three days' bread and water. That is what he wants."
"You do not believe in magic, then?" Mankell turned to the Major with his laughing eyes.
"What's it matter to you what I believe? You may take my word for it that I don't believe in impudent mountebanks like you."
The only reply Mankell gave was to raise his hand-if that might be called a reply-in the way we sometimes do when we call for silence, and there was silence in the room. All eyes were fixed upon the prisoner. He looked each in turn steadily in the face. Then, still serenely smiling, he gently murmured, "If you please."
There still was silence, but only for a moment. It was broken by Warder Slater. That usually decorous officer tilted his cap to the back of his head, and thrust his hands into his breeches pockets-hardly the regulation attitude in the presence of superiors.
"I should blooming well like to know what this means! 'Ere have I been in this 'ere jail eleven years, and I've never been accused before of letting men out of their night-cells, let alone their beds and bedding, and I don't like it, so I tell you straight."
The chief warder turned with automatic suddenness towards the unexpectedly and unusually plain-spoken officer.
"Slater,
