Johnson took the card, and, instructed by the Lord Chief Justice, carefully looked it over, but saw nothing.  His face was a perfect blank, and his mind could not have been much more picturesque.

“Turn it over,” said his lordship.  Johnson obeyed.  Still the cryptic hierograph did not appear.  The Judge stared at his pupil.  “Do you see,” asked his lordship, “a tiny mark on the corner of the card at the back?”

“Oh, I see it!” says Johnson, with a face beaming with delight and simplicity.

“That means the ace of diamonds” said the Chief—­“ace of diamonds, Mr. Johnson!” And thus, after a while, the cards and their secret signs were explained to the counsel for the Crown, who, on the intelligence of the Brighton magistrates, declared that, so far as the cards were concerned, he must acquit these card-sharping rogues of all intention to deceive.

In all cases the back of the card showed what was on the face; that was the simple secret of the whole contrivance, although the Brighton magistrates could not discover it, as the whole of them combined had not a hundredth part of the intelligent cuteness of Lord Chief Justice Jervis.

Two of this gang were standing near me, and I heard one of them say to the other,—­

“Joey, how would you like to play blind hookey with that ——­ old devil?”

“O my G——!” exclaimed Joey.

The prisoners were convicted principally upon the evidence of the Lord Chief Justice, and sentenced to long terms of imprisonment.  My client Johnny got away.  He read about Jervis and this trial in the papers, and declared he would sooner abandon his profession than be tried by such an old thief.  “Why,” said he, “that old bloke knows every trick on the board.”

His escape was rather interesting.  He came into Lewes fully intending to take his trial, and went out of Lewes with the determination not to be tried at those assizes, for the simple reason, as he said, that Jervis was too heavy weight for his counsel.

He took a room and showed himself publicly; but at night the police—­those stalwart county men—­paid a tiptoe visit to his bedroom.  They had no right to this privilege, but perhaps Harry thought it would be better for his brother if they did so.  Why they went on tiptoe was that Harry told them his brother was in so weak a state that he woke up with the least noise.  The police very kindly believed him, and paid their first and second visit on tiptoe.

When they went the third time, however, their bird had flown.  Johnny had let himself down by the window, and, evading the vigilance of those who may have been on the lookout, escaped.

But he did not go without providing a substitute.  Harry was to answer all inquiries, and waited the arrival of his watchers, lying in Johnny’s bedroom.  When the officers came he opened the door in his night apparel, and said, “Hush! don’t disturb him; poor Johnny ain’t slept hardly for a week over this ’ere job.  But you can have a peep at him, only don’t make a noise.  There he is!” and he pointed to a fancy nightcap of his brother’s, which only wanted Johnny’s head to make the story true.