This report was scarcely finished when the Potentate returned.  He was very much surprised to find that seventeen prisoners had come in since his previous visit, and he read the report with interest.

“Here is one who ought to be executed,” he said, referring to Number Seventeen.  “And how did he poison his grandmother by proxy?  Did he get another woman to be poisoned in her stead?  Or did he employ some one to act in his place as the poisoner?”

“I have not yet been fully informed, my lord,” said the jailer, fearful that he should lose a prisoner; “but this is his first offence, and his grandmother, who did not die, has testified to his general good character.”

“Very well,” said the Potentate; “but if he ever does it again, let him be executed; and, by the way, I should like to see the prisoners.”

Thereupon the jailer conducted the Potentate along the corridors, and let him look through the holes in the doors at the prisoners within.

“What is this little girl in for?” he asked.

The jailer looked at the number over the door, and then at his report.

“Piracy,” he answered.

“A strange offence for such a child,” said the Potentate.

“They often begin that sort of thing very early in life,” said the jailer.

“And this fine gentleman,” said the Potentate, looking in at the Prince, “what did he do?”

The jailer glanced at the number, and the report.

“Robbed hen-roosts,” he said.

“He must have done a good deal of it to afford to dress so well,” said the Potentate, passing on, and looking into other cells.  “It seems to me that many of your prisoners are very young.”

“It is best to take them young, my lord,” said the jailer.  “They are very hard to catch when they grow up.”

The Potentate then looked in at the Jolly-cum-pop, and asked what was his offence.

“Conspiracy,” was the answer.

“And where are the other conspirators?”

“There was only one,” said the jailer.

Number Seventeen was the oldest of the courtiers.

“He appears to be an elderly man to have a grandmother,” said the Potentate.  “She must be very aged, and that makes it all the worse for him.  I think he should be executed.”

“Oh, no, my lord,” cried the jailor.  “I am assured that his crime was quite unintentional.”

“Then he should be set free,” said the Potentate.

“I mean to say,” said the jailer, “that it was just enough intentional to cause him to be imprisoned here for a long time, but not enough to deserve execution.”

“Very well,” said the Potentate, turning to leave; “take good care of your prisoners, and send me a report every month.”

“That will I do, my lord,” said the jailer, bowing very low.