"The keys must be on the flags still," said his lordship.

"That is the only conclusion I can come to, my lord," mildly put in
Jenkins. "But we cannot find them."

"And meanwhile we are locked in for the night, and here's his right
reverend lordship, the bishop, locked in with us!" danced old Ketch,
almost beside himself with anger. "Of course, it wouldn't matter for me
and Jenkins: speaking in comparison, we are nobody; but it is a
shameful indignity for my lord."

"We must try and get out, Ketch," said his lordship, in a tone that
sounded as if he were more inclined to laugh than cry. "I will go back
to the deanery."

Away went the bishop as quickly as the gloom allowed him, and away went
the other two in his wake. Arrived at the passage which led from the
cloisters to the deanery garden they groped their way to the end--only
to find the door closed and locked.

"Well, this is a pleasant situation!" exclaimed the bishop, his tone
betraying amusement as well as annoyance; and with his own prelatical
hands he pummelled at the door, and shouted with his own prelatical
voice. When the bishop was tired, Jenkins and Ketch began to pummel and
to shout, and they pummelled and shouted till their knuckles were sore
and their throats were hoarse. It was all in vain. The garden
intervened between them and the deanery, and they could not be heard.

It certainly was a pretty situation, as the prelate remarked. The Right
Reverend the Lord Bishop of Helstonleigh, ranking about fifth, by