"Locked up!" repeated the bishop. "What do you mean? Who is with you?"

"It is me, my lord," said Jenkins, meekly, answering for himself.
"Joseph Jenkins, my lord, at Mr. Galloway's. I came in with the porter
just for company, my lord, when he came to lock up, and we have somehow
got locked in."

The bishop demanded an explanation. It was not very easily afforded.
Ketch and Jenkins talked one against the other, and when the bishop did
at length understand the tale, he scarcely gave credence to it.

"It is an incomprehensible story, Ketch, that you should drop your
keys, and they should be changed for others as they lay on the flags.
Are you sure you brought out the right keys?"

"My lord, I _couldn't_ bring out any others," returned Ketch, in a tone
that longed to betray its resentment, and would have betrayed it to any
one but a bishop. "I haven't no others to bring, my lord. The two keys
hang up on the nail always, and there ain't another key besides in the
house, except the door key."

"Some one must have changed them previously--must have hung up these in
their places," remarked the bishop.

"But, my lord, it couldn't be, I say," reiterated old Ketch, almost
shrieking. "I know the keys just as well as I know my own hands, and
they was the right keys that I brought out. The best proof, my lord,
is, that I locked the south door fast enough; and how could I have done
that with these wretched old rusty things?"