He paused before Rebecca's house to the left of the prison.

"Ramsay," inquired Jack quizzically, "do you happen to have heard who
has the keys?"

"Rebecca's father is warden."

"And Rebecca's father is from home to-night," says he, facing me
squarely to the lantern above the door.

How did he know that? Then I remembered the voices outside the church.

"Jack--what did Rebecca mean----"

"Not to be hanged," interrupts Jack. "'Tis all along o' having too
much conscience, Ramsay. They must either lie like a Dutchman and be
damned, or tell the truth and be hanged. Now, ship ahoy," says he, "to
the quarterdeck!" and he flung me forcibly up the steps.

Rebecca, herself, red-eyed and reserved, threw wide the door. She
motioned me to a bench seat opposite the fireplace and fastened her
gaze above the mantel till mine followed there too. A bunch of keys
hung from an iron rack.

"What are those, Rebecca?"

"The largest is for the gate," says she with the panic of conscience
running from fire. "The brass one unlocks the great door,
and--and--the--M. Picot's cell unbolts," she stammered.