the smallest of his trials was not Sir William
Wade.

Mr Garnet's first act, on being inducted into these comfortable
quarters in his Majesty's Tower, was to bribe his keeper to wink at his
peccadilloes. A few cups of that supernumerary sack, and an occasional
piece of silver, were worth expending on the safe carriage of his
letters and other necessities which might in time arise. He made
affectionate inquiries as to the keeper's domestic relations, and
discovered that he was blessed with a wife and a mother. To the wife he
despatched a little of that excellent sack, and secured permission for
his letters to be placed in the custody of the mother, who dwelt just
outside the walls. But he was especially rejoiced when, a few days
after his incarceration, the keeper sidled up to him, with a finger on
his lips and a wink in his eye, and beckoned him to a particular part of
the room, where with great parade of care and silence he showed him a
concealed door between his own cell and that of Hall, intimating by
signs that secret communications might be held after this fashion, and
he, the keeper, would take care to be conveniently blind and deaf.

This was a comfort indeed, for the imprisoned priests could now mutually
forgive each others' sins. There was a little cranny in the top of the
door, which might be utilised for a mere occasional whisper; but when a
regular confession was to be made, the door of communication could be
opened for an inch or two. The one drawback was that the vexatious door
insisted on creaking, as if it were a Protestant door desirous of giving
warning of Popish practices. But the Jesuits were equal to the
difficulty. When the door was to be shut, the unemployed one either
fell to shovelling coals upon the fire, or was suddenly seized with a
severe bronchial cough, so that the ominous creak should not be heard
outside. The comfort, therefore, remained; and heartily glad were the
imprisoned Jesuits to have found this means of communication by the kind
help of their tender-hearted keeper.

Alas, poor Jesuits! They little knew that they were caught in their own
trap. The treacherous keeper drank their sack, and pocketed their
angels, but their letters rarely went further than my Lord of
Salisbury's desk; and in a convenient closet unseen by them, close to
the creaking door, Mr Forset, a Justice of the Peace, and Mr
Locherson, Lord Salisbury's secretary, were listening with all their
ears to