They were both as kind and considerate as ever during the last stage of our journey. From Dover to Charing Cross, Harris, I know, sat in a most cramped and uncomfortable position all the way, so that I should rest as easily as possible; but in some subtle manner our relationship had changed. I had, of course, been their prisoner all along, but the fact only came home to me now.
From Charing Cross we went in a cab to the prison, through the sunny streets, so quiet at this early hour.
"Cheer up," counselled Freeman, as I shook hands with him and Harris, from whom I was now, of course, unshackled. "You'll come before the magistrate to-morrow or next day; depends on what the doctor says. He'll see you directly. You'll want to communicate with your friends at once, of course, and start arranging about your defence. I can send a wire, or telephone to any one on my way home if you like."
He really was an astonishing good sort, though he had been implacable on the handcuff question.
I thanked him, and gave him Jim Cayley's name and address and telephone number.
"All right; I'll let Mr. Cayley know as soon as possible," he said, jotting the details in his note-book. "What about Lord Southbourne?"
I felt distinctly guilty with respect to Southbourne. I ought, of course, to have communicated with him--or rather have got Freeman to do so--as soon as I began to pull round; but somehow I'd put off the unpleasant duty. I had disobeyed his express instructions, as poor Carson had done; and the disobedience had brought its own punishment to me, as to Carson, though in a different way; but Southbourne would account that as nothing. He would probably ignore me; or if he did not do that, his interest would be strictly impersonal,--limited to the amount of effective copy I could turn out as a result of my experiences.
Therefore I was considerably surprised when, some hours afterwards, instead of Jim Cayley, whom I was expecting every moment, Lord Southbourne himself was brought up to the cell,--one of those kept for prisoners on remand, a small bare room, but comfortable enough, and representing the acme of luxury in comparison with the crowded den in which I had been thrown in Petersburg.