It was a wicked tale of a wicked young jail-bird, as Mr. Pike (probably the worse jail-bird by far of the two) phrased it.  Master Ripper had purposely caused himself to be locked in the mill, his object being to supply himself with as much corn as he could carry about him for the benefit of his rabbits and pigeons and other live stock at home.  He had done it twice before, he avowed, in dread of the pistol, and had got away safe through the square hole in the passage at the foot of the back staircase, whence he had dropped to the ground.  To his consternation on this occasion, however, he had found the door at the foot of the stairs bolted, as it never had been before, and he could not get to the passage.  So he was a prisoner all the afternoon, and had exercised his legs between the store-room and kitchen, both of which were open to him.

If ever a man showed virtuous indignation at a sinner’s confession, Mr. Pike showed it now.  “That’s how you were about in the stubble-field setting your traps, you young villain!  I saw the coroner look at you.  And now about Lord Hartledon.  What did you see?”

Master Ripper rubbed the perspiration from his face as he went on with his tale.  Pike listened with all the ears he possessed and said not a word, beyond sundry rough exclamations, until the tale was done.

“You awful young dog!  You saw all that from the kitchen-window, and never tried to get out of it!”

“I couldn’t get out of it,” pleaded the boy.  “It’s got a wire-net before it, and I couldn’t break that.”

“You are strong enough to break it ten times over,” retorted Pike.

“But then master would ha’ known I’d been in the mill!” cried the boy, a gleam of cunning in his eyes.

“Ugh,” grunted Pike.  “And you saw exactly what you’ve told me?”

“I saw it and heard the cries.”

“Did he see you?”

“No; I was afeard to show myself.  When master come home, the first thing he did was t’ unlock that there staircase door, and I got out without his seeing me—­”

“Where did you hide the grain you were loaded with?” demanded Pike.

“I’d emptied it out again in the store-room,” returned the boy.  “I told master there were a loose skiff out there, and he come out and secured it.  Them harvesters come up next and got him out of the water.”

“Yes, you could see fast enough what you were looking for!  Well, young Rip,” continued Mr. Pike, consolingly, “you stand about as rich a chance of being hanged as ever you’ll stand in all your born days.  If you’d jumped through that wire you’d have saved my lord, and he’d have made it right for you with old Floyd.  I’d advise you to keep a silent tongue in your head, if you want to save your neck.”

“I was keeping it, till you come and made me tell with that there pistol,” howled the boy.  “You won’t go and split on me?” he asked, with trembling lips.

“I won’t split on you about the grain,” graciously promised Pike.  “It’s no business of mine.  As to the other matter—­well, I’ll not say anything about that; at any rate, yet awhile.  You keep it a secret; so will I.”