"They must all be guilty of crimes," he said to himself, "which are punished by long imprisonment. I don't want any of them executed."
So he numbered his prisoners from one to seventeen, according to the cell each happened to be in, and he wrote a crime opposite each number. The first was highway robbery, the next forgery, and after that followed treason, smuggling, barn-burning, bribery, poaching, usury, piracy, witchcraft, assault and battery, using false weights and measures, burglary, counterfeiting, robbing hen-roosts, conspiracy, and poisoning his grandmother by proxy.
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.
"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.
"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.