Mr. Eden shaved and took his bath, and ran into the town.  He knocked up a solicitor, with whom he was acquainted.

“I want you to make my will, while your son attests this copy of this ledger.”

“But my son is in bed.”

“Well! he can read in bed.  Which is his room?”

“That one.”—­Rap! (Come in.)

“Here, Mr. Edward, compare these two, and correct or attest this as a true copy—­Twenty minutes’ work—­Two guineas; here they are on your drawers;” and he chucked the documents on the bed, opened the shutters, and drew the bed-curtains; and passing his arm under the father’s, he drew him into his own office, opened the shutters, put paper before him, and dictated a will.  Three bequests (one to Evans), and his mother residuary legatee.  The will written, he ran upstairs, made father and son execute it, and then darted out, caught a fly that was going to the railway, engaged it; upstairs again.  The work was done, copy attested.

“Half a crown if you are at the jail in five minutes.”

Galloped off with his two documents-entered the jail—­went to his own room—­sent for Evans—­gave him Fry’s book, and ordered himself the same breakfast the prisoners had.

“I am bilious, and no wonder.  I have been living too luxuriously; if I had been content with the diet my poor brothers live on, I should be in better health.  It serves me just right.”

Then he sat down and wrote a short memorial to the Secretary for the Home Department, claiming an inquiry into the jailer’s conduct.

“I have evidence on the spot to show that for two years he has been guilty of illegal practices.  That he has introduced into the prison an unlawful instrument of torture.  That during his whole period of office he has fabricated partial, colored and false reports of his actions in the prison, and also of their consequences; that he has suppressed all mention of no less than seven attempts at suicide, and has given a false color, both with respect to the place of death, the manner of death and the cause of death of some twenty prisoners besides.  That his day-book, kept in the prison for the inspection and guide of the magistrates, is a tissue of frauds, equivocations, exaggerations, diminutions and direct falsehoods; that his periodical reports to the Home Office are a tissue of the same frauds, suppressions, inventions, and direct falsehoods.

“The truth, therefore, is inaccessible to you, except by a severe inquiry conducted on the spot.  That inquiry I pray for on public grounds, and if need be, demand in my own person, as her majesty’s servant driven to this strait.

“I am responsible to her majesty for the lives and well-being of the prisoners, and yet unable, without your intervention, to protect them against illegal violence covered by organized fraud.”

Mr. Eden copied this, and sent the copy at once to Mr. Hawes with two lines to this effect, that the duplicate should not leave the town till seven in the evening, so Mr. Hawes had plenty of time to write to the Home Secretary by same post, and parry or meet this blow if he thought it worth his while.