RETRIBUTION.

When Frederick Holdfast turned the key in the lock, Pelham raised his head, and looked in alarm at Mrs. Holdfast. She, also, hearing the sound, slightly raised herself from the bed upon which she was reclining and looked into Pelham’s face. Dazed with fear, they remained thus, transfixed, gazing at each other, and did not speak for full a minute. Then Pelham, with his finger on his lips, looked upward to the ceiling, in the supposition that the sound had proceeded from above. For full another minute neither of them moved.

“Did you hear anything?” asked Pelham, in a whisper. “Speak low.”

“Yes,” she replied, trembling with fear.

“What do you think it was?”

“God knows,” said the terrified woman. “You told me no person was in the house.”

“Nor has there been,” he said, “nor is there, I believe. But there may be rats. We will give up the house to them. What are you staring at, you fool?” he cried, turning swiftly round.

“I thought I saw a shadow moving behind you,” she whispered.

“There’s nothing here.”

“No, it’s gone. It was my fancy. Pelham, I am frightened.”

“What did you come here for? I advised you to go home, but you had the devil in you, and would have your way. Let us make an end of this. In mischief’s name, what’s the matter with you now?”

“Hush!” she exclaimed, seizing his hand.

“Well, what is it?” he demanded roughly.

“I heard a whistle outside.”

“What of that? Boys whistling in the streets are common enough.”

“It was not a boy whistling. It was a shrill sound, as though some one was calling men about him.”

“Or calling a cab.”

“Hark! there it is again.”

These were the two whistles by which Frederick summoned the detective.

“It is not a boy whistling a tune,” said Pelham, “nor a summons for a cab. I don’t suppose it concerns us, but you have succeeded in putting a stop to my work. I’ll do no more. Your dead husband’s Will, if he made one, and anything else he wrote, will soon be out of reach of living man. Now for the finishing touches.”

He poured the spirit about the room, and saturated some sheets of paper with it, placing them beneath the boards in such a way as to produce an effectual blaze the moment a light was applied to them.

“I am quite an artist,” he said, laughing. “In five minutes there will be a conflagration which will spread too rapidly for a fire engine to extinguish until everything on this floor at least is burnt to ashes. Grace, old girl, this is a business that suits me; I was never meant for milk-and-water work. The house on fire, and we a mile away, and all danger will be over.”

His gleeful tone jarred upon his guilty associate.

“Work in silence,” she said, with a shudder. “Do you forget what was done in this room the last time we were here together?”

“Forget!” he exclaimed. “No, I shall never forget. But it does not trouble me. Every man for himself—it is nature’s law, and he is a fool who allows himself to be trampled on and ruined, when he has the opportunity of putting his enemy out of the way. Well, it is done, and I am going to reap. These last twelve months I have led the life of a dog; now I’ll live like a gentleman. There! everything is ready. Now for escape. Grace, you go first to the top of the house, and wait for me. The moment I set fire to this rubbish, I will join you. We will get back into the next house, where there will be plenty of people to help to save the furniture; we will mix with them, and in the confusion slip off. A kiss, Grace, for luck!”

They kissed each other, and she went to the door, and turned the handle, but could not open the door. It was fast.

“My God!” she screamed. “We are locked in!”

The full meaning of this flashed instantly upon them.

“Trapped!” cried Pelham, savagely.

He knew well that the game was up, and that nothing short of a miracle would save him. The sound they had heard was the clicking of the lock; the whistles they had heard were a summons to their pursuers. While they had deemed themselves safe, enemies had been watching them. They were caught in their own trap.

Pelham strove to force the door open, but had not sufficient strength.

“I am as weak as a rat,” he muttered hoarsely, “but there is still a chance.”

He tore the sheets from the bed, and in an incredibly short space of time, working like a madman, knotted them together. His design was to escape from the house by the back window, but he could find no hold for his rope within the room. As he looked eagerly around he felt himself seized by Grace.

“Save me!” she cried, hysterically. “It is there again—the Shadow of the man we murdered!”

He shook her off, and in her terror, she slipped back, and overturned the candlestick, which was on the floor, with a lighted candle in it. The light instantly communicated itself to the spirit and inflammable matter which Pelham had scattered about, and the next moment the room was in a blaze. Vainly did Pelham strive to beat out the fire. Blinded by the smoke, and the flames which presently enveloped them, they staggered and stumbled in their tomb of fire, and then it was that Grace gave utterance to the terrible cry of anguish which drove the blood from the cheeks of the crowd of people surging in Great Porter Square.