My feeling of horror at what I instinctively knew was soon to happen was perhaps increased by the fact that this morning the girl seemed to be in the brightest possible humour. She was laughing and chatting, turning first to one man and then to the other, as she stepped gaily along between them. Nor were Harvey Scoffold and Bardolph Just lacking in apparent good humour; Harvey Scoffold, in particular, was laughing boisterously. Every now and then the two men would exchange glances behind the unconscious girl, as though assuring each other that they were ready for some signal to pass from one to the other.

They came straight on down through the wood, with one figure now hidden for a moment by the trees, and then the three of them fully in sight again. In the hollow where I lay I now and then heard a quick rustling, and saw a rabbit dart across and disappear; I realised that I might be in some danger if the party fired in my direction. But concerning that I was quite reckless.

Debora proved to be a capital shot, and Harvey Scoffold was second only to her. The doctor fired only once, and then he missed; I saw the girl turn and look at him, and laugh. And his face was not pleasant to see.

At last I saw what I had expected. Harvey Scoffold and the girl moved forward a little, and the doctor stopped. I saw Scoffold look back, with a sharp turn of the head for a moment; saw him glance sideways at the girl. I raised myself a little, and, with my heart thumping against my ribs, levelled the gun I held, and looked along the smooth, shining barrel of it until I had Bardolph Just squarely at the end of it.

A rabbit darted across, straight in front of Harvey Scoffold and the girl; I saw it out of the tail of my eye as I watched the doctor. Both guns spoke, and even as they did so I saw Bardolph Just with his gun to his shoulder, and the barrel pointing straight at the girl's back, not five yards in front of him. It was all so sudden—first the bark of the two guns in front—then my own weapon seemed to go off at the same moment. In my excitement I let him have both barrels; I saw his own gun explode harmlessly in the air, and then fall from his hands. He dropped to his knees with a cry, and held his left wrist with the fingers of his right hand locked round it. His face was very white, and he rocked himself backwards and forwards as he knelt there, and bit his lower lip until I saw a faint trickle of blood down his chin.

I knew that I had in all probability shattered his wrist; so much at least I hoped. The others had run back, and the girl was kneeling beside him, while Scoffold stood staring at him in very genuine amazement. I saw the doctor turn his head swiftly and look sharply in my direction; then he said something in a low tone to Scoffold. I could not hear what was said, but I saw him stagger to his feet, with the help of the girl, and saw them go slowly towards the house. Harvey Scoffold stood still, looking after them for a moment; then he turned sharply and faced towards where I was. I saw him open the breech of his gun and slip a cartridge in; then he walked straight towards me.

My gun was of course empty, but when he first caught sight of me I was kneeling in a very business-like attitude, with the weapon levelled. He looked straight down the barrels of it. He stopped, and I saw him fumbling with the trigger of his own.

"Have a care, Mr. Scoffold," I said quietly. "I have you covered."

"What are you doing there?" he stammered.

"I'll tell you presently," I answered him, still keeping my gun raised. "Now, reverse that gun of yours; come a little nearer. That's it; now lay it on the grass. Go back a pace or two; now stand still. And remember that if you play any tricks I'm in a mood to blow your brains out. I shall shoot you through the head, Mr. Harvey Scoffold—not through the arm."

By this time he was standing some paces away, his arms hanging by his sides. I got up, and stepped forward to where his gun lay, and picked it up. I dropped my own behind me. "Perhaps you'd like to know," I said, after I had made sure that the gun I had taken from him was loaded, "that my own weapon was unloaded. The doctor had both barrels."

I heard him mutter something under his breath, and I guessed pretty accurately what it was. He kept his eyes on me, evidently watching for a way of escape; he shifted his feet uneasily, as he stood there covered by his own gun.

"Now, Harvey Scoffold, I'll have a little explanation with you before I go up to the house," I said. "You were in the plot to murder this young girl. Be careful how you answer me, for my temper is such at this moment that my fingers itch for this trigger."

"My dear fellow—I do assure you——" he began; but at the look in my eyes he hung his head, and blurted out the truth.

"What could I do?" he muttered. "I did my best to stop it—to persuade the doctor to abandon the idea. I only came out this morning because I thought—because I hoped I might be able to prevent it."

"You are lying, Harvey Scoffold," I told him. "I have been here both last night and since early this morning; I have seen everything, and heard a great deal. You were in the plot; you were to hold the attention of the girl while murder was done. If I had not been here she would be lying dead now."

"It's true," he said. "I'm bound to confess it's true. But I thank God you came in time!"

"Bah!" I ejaculated contemptuously. "I don't like your penitence, Mr. Scoffold. Now turn about and go up to the house. I'll follow you."

He hesitated for a moment, and then turned and walked towards the house. I picked up the other gun and followed him, and in that order we came to the house, and marched up the steps and into the hall. He looked back at me over his shoulder then.

"Which way?" he asked sulkily.

"I want to see the doctor," I replied, setting the guns down in a corner. "Lead the way; I'll follow you."

He turned into a room on the right, crossed it, and came to a door at the other side. Opening this, he passed through, and I followed him. Directly I got into the room I saw before me a curious little scene, and one that, even now, in the recollection of it, sends a thrill at once of pity and of admiration through me, however unwillingly. The doctor was seated by a table, on which was spread a white cloth; an open case of surgical instruments was by his side. Leaning across the table was Martha Leach, doing something with a bowl of water and a small sponge. Very slowly and calmly Bardolph Just was cleaning the broken flesh and bone, quite as calmly, save for an occasional spasm of pain that crossed his face, as though he had been operating on a patient. He turned his head for a moment as we came into the room, and stopped what he was doing.

"Take that fellow away!" he shouted.

But I stood my ground. "Thanks," I replied, "I prefer to remain. There is a word or two to be said between us, doctor; but pray don't let me interrupt what you are doing. Your injury is not quite as bad as I had hoped; but then I am not much good behind a gun. I hoped to hit a vital spot."

"Why did you shoot me?" he asked sullenly.

"Don't ask idle questions," I retorted. "Get on with your work."

He rewarded me for that remark with a scowl, and went on again with the work in hand. Now and then he gave a quick order, half under his breath, to the obedient Martha Leach, who waited upon him slavishly; under his direction she presently bound up the arm, after cutting splints for it according to a fashion he told her. Then, in obedience to a sign from him, she brought him a small glass of spirits, which he drank quickly; I saw the colour begin to come back into his white face.

"That was an ordeal, Harvey," he said. "Upon my word, I didn't think I had the courage. I think it'll mend all right now; both bones were shattered."

He took not the faintest notice of me, as he presently laid his hand in a sling which the woman Leach dexterously twisted round his neck. He nodded to her in token that she should go; and she went slowly out of the room, carrying the cloth and basin with her; she gave me a deadly look as she passed me. But for her looks I no longer cared.

Perhaps the least composed of the three of us was Harvey Scoffold; he fidgeted about from one foot to the other, and strove to whistle a tune; and all the while glanced furtively at Bardolph Just or at myself. Bardolph Just, for his part, stood like a man slowly making up his mind to something; I saw, besides, that he was raging within himself with pain, and mortification, and chagrin, and could with difficulty control his feelings. When at last he looked up he repeated that question he had asked before.

"Why did you shoot me?"

"I preferred to shoot you rather than see murder done; I meant to kill you, if I could, because I counted your life more worthless than that of Miss Debora Matchwick."

"I was not going to kill her," he said sullenly.

"No," I answered him, "there was to be an accident, and no one would have been more sorry than her dear, devoted guardian at the deplorable result of that accident! You need not lie to me, Dr. Just; your accomplice has already given the game away."

He glanced quickly at Harvey Scoffold, and that gentleman merely shrugged his shoulders and spread out his hands protestingly; but I saw that the doctor believed that Scoffold had been made to speak. The doctor walked across to the window, and stood there looking out for some time. He spoke at last, without turning his head.

"You constitute yourself judge and executioner both," he said. "If you had killed me I think it must have proved a hanging matter for you, Mr. Jail-bird."

"But I should have saved the girl," I answered. "What is my life worth, that I should weigh it in the balance when there is a question of her safety?"

"What are you going to do?" he asked, turning his head a little.

"I am going to see Miss Matchwick, and I am going to put the case fairly before her," I replied steadily. "I intend to tell her of the three attempts you have made upon her life; I intend to let her understand that your game, Dr. Just, is murder."

"Very fine, and very brave," he remarked; then he suddenly swung round on me, and barked out a question. "If you are so certain of your facts, why not go to the police—why not stop this game of murder, as you call it?"

"You know I can't do that," I said. "In the first place I cannot even declare who I am, nor why I'm in your house; and in the second, as you know, I have no proof."

He walked across to where Harvey Scoffold was standing, and nudged him with his free arm in the ribs. "Hark to him, Harvey—hark to this fine talker! He has no proof—and he dare not show himself as other men might. This thing without a name is going to do doughty deeds for the sake of a young girl; he claims already to have saved her three times from death. What is anybody to make of it, if he chooses to tell his story?"

"I make this of it," I broke in hotly. "I am here to see Miss Matchwick; I will put the thing fairly before her. If I can do nothing else, I can at least show her where her danger lies, so that she may not walk into it without her eyes open."

I never understood the man until long afterwards—at least, I never understood him fully; perhaps if I had I should have been prepared for the desperate chances he took, and for the sheer recklessness with which he carried matters through. He turned now to Scoffold, and said quickly—

"That's a good notion, Harvey; that's a fair and just thing to say. We've had enough of this fellow, who brags and boasts, and shoots men from behind bushes. The young lady shall judge for us, and shall give him his dismissal. It's a good idea, and one that we will see carried out. Fetch Debora here."

"Stop!" I cried, as Harvey Scoffold was moving towards the door. "We'll have no underhand tricks, and no warnings. Ring the bell, and send a servant for Miss Matchwick."

Scoffold stopped and looked at the doctor; the latter slowly nodded his head. So it came about that Scoffold rang the bell, and on the coming of the servant requested that Miss Debora should be asked to step that way. After the man had retired, and while we waited in a grim silence for the coming of Debora, I felt my cheeks begin to flame; almost it seemed as though I felt again the sharp tingling pain where she had lashed me across the face.

When the door opened at last the girl came in quickly. She walked straight towards where the doctor stood, and spoke at once impulsively.

"Oh, I am so sorry—so very sorry!" she said. "How did it happen? Have you found out who did it?"

Bardolph Just did not speak; he simply looked at me. Following the direction of his eyes, she turned also and looked at me. I saw her draw herself up with that quick little lift of her chin; I saw a dawning smile in the doctor's eyes.

"What is that man doing here?" she asked.

"He came, my dear Debora, with a purpose—a purpose which he has partly accomplished. My broken wrist tells its own tale; had he had his way, I should probably not be speaking to you now."

"Had he had his way, Miss Debora," I blurted out, "you would be lying dead somewhere in this house—as the result of an accident!"

I saw her face blanch; she turned furtive, frightened eyes for a moment on the doctor. He shook his head, with a lifting of the eyebrows which seemed to suggest that he left such a mad accusation to be judged properly by her; and she flashed round on me.

"I don't believe it—I don't believe a word of it!" she said.

"Thank you, my dear child," said Bardolph Just. "I might have known what your answer would be."

"Very satisfactory—quite what might have been expected," murmured Scoffold.

The girl had turned her head, and was looking at me steadily. What was in her mind I could not tell, for her face told me nothing. Scorn of me I could read, and contempt; I felt my heart sink, even while I nerved myself for the task before me.

"Is that why I am sent for?" she said. "Is it to hear such an accusation as this? Is this what you had to say to me?"

Still her eyes looked contemptuously into mine, where I stood half abashed before her; still I felt that the doctor was growing momentarily more sure of his victory.

"I asked that you might be sent for," I said, beginning my reply steadily, "in order that you might understand what is being done, and that you might guard yourself against it. If you think me so poor a thing that I may not help you, then for God's sake set me aside out of the matter; get someone else more worthy to assist you. But wake up—open your eyes—face this Death that is waiting for you at every turn!"

She might have been a figure of stone, so little movement did she make. And now I saw that both Harvey Scoffold and the doctor were watching her, and not me.

"I have pleaded with you before; I have told you what I know is being done against you and against your life," I went on, speaking more eagerly with every word. "That man has tried to kill you three several times. He tried to make you walk out of that door at dead of night; he tried to poison you—of those things I have already told you. I was able to save you on those two occasions, but after that he sent me away from you, and I had to leave you to the mercy of these men. Only by the merest chance did I find out that you had come down here, and were going on this apparently innocent expedition this morning. Will you not believe me when I tell you that I heard the whole thing plotted between them last night?"

She gave me no answer, although I waited for one. After a pause I went on—

"There was to be an accident this morning; gun accidents have happened frequently. Mr. Scoffold there received his instructions——"

"I protest against this madman!" broke in Harvey Scoffold. "I assure you——"

"Hold your tongue!" snapped the doctor unexpectedly. "Let him say what he has to say."

"So I got a gun from the house," I went on; "for I meant to kill Dr. Just, if by chance I was quick enough to prevent him carrying out his scheme. I lay in the woods over there, and I waited; then I saw Harvey Scoffold walk in front with you, and I saw the doctor step back. As God is my witness I saw the man raise his gun and point it direct at you; then I raised my own and fired."

Very slowly she turned her head, and stole a look at the doctor's face. I saw him repeat his former gesture, as though it were not worth while for him to deny the matter; the thing was so absurd. I saw Debora also glance at Harvey Scoffold, who smiled gaily and shook his head; then she looked back towards me. I did not understand her; I could not read into that mind that was behind her unfathomable eyes. If, while I waited for her judgment, I looked at her with any look of pleading, it was only that she might, for her own sake, judge me fairly, and judge me to be honest.

"I won't trouble to remember the absurd name you bear, a name which is not your own," she began very quietly. "I will only remember that you are nobody, and that you forced your way into Dr. Just's house while you were a criminal flying from the law. Do you think it likely that I should take your word in such a matter as this?"

I saw Bardolph Just exchange a quick look with Harvey Scoffold, a look compounded of gratification as well as amazement. Scoffold, for his part, was openly grinning.

"Your zeal for me and for my welfare is quite misplaced, and quite unnecessary," went on Debora. "I'm sorry you should have thought it necessary to try and kill my guardian; it is a merciful thing that you have only injured him. That is all I have to say to you."

"Debora," I said, looking at her earnestly, "I entreat you to believe that what I have said is true. I know these men; I know what their purpose is; I know what must inevitably happen if you will not realise your own danger."

"Come—we've had enough of this!" broke in Bardolph Just. "It's quite time we told this fellow that he'd best get away from the place, and be seen here no more. He's had his answer, and I hope he's pleased with it."

"Debora," I went on, ignoring the man altogether, "I will take you away from this place, and will put you with friends who will be good to you. Debora, won't you listen to me?"

"I have given you my answer, and it is a final one," she said. "Had the warning come from anyone else I might have been troubled by it—mystified by it; coming from a man with your record it is worthless. When I listened to you first I did not understand who you were; now I know. That is the end of it."

"It is not the end of it!" I cried fiercely, as she turned away from me. "I will save you in spite of yourself; I will make you understand your danger, even if you do not see it now. I shall ask no thanks and seek no reward. I shall have done it for another reason." I turned to the doctor, and pointed a finger at him. "As for you, sir, such a retribution is preparing for you as shall not be long delayed. You think you have seen the last of me—you have not done that by any means. Don't forget that I am a desperate man, with nothing to lose in this world save my liberty; and I shall not count that, if it becomes necessary for me to declare who I am, and to come forward into the light of day to protect this girl. That's my last word on the matter."

"I'm glad to hear it!" retorted the doctor. "Open the door, Harvey, please."

Mr. Harvey Scoffold obeyed with alacrity, and, thus dismissed, I went out of the house, and made my way towards the village. I was sent upon my way more quickly, perhaps, from hearing a peal of laughter from the room I had left. I went away with rage and bitterness in my heart.

I went back to my lodging at the little inn, more perplexed than ever as to what I should do. I knew that this was a new danger which threatened the girl, because she would prove an easier victim in any new scheme which might be maturing, by reason of her belief in the man who meant to kill her; her trust in him would make her utterly unsuspicious. The thought of that drove me almost frantic, and I raged up and down my little room in the inn, tormented by doubts and fears, and seeing my own helplessness loom more largely before me with every moment. Late in the afternoon I went out into the village of Comerford, undecided whether to go back to London, or whether to remain in that place. I wandered aimlessly about the streets, and finally seated myself on a gate a little way out, and propped my chin in my hands and gave myself up to the gloomiest thoughts.

I became aware, in a curious, detached fashion, of a small country boy, with a very freckled face and very light hair, who had walked past me twice, and had observed me narrowly; now I came to think of it, I had seen him loitering along on the other side of the street some half-hour previously. I looked at him with a frown now, and asked him what he wanted.

To my surprise he asked me if I was Mr. John New. I sat up and looked at him, and said that I was. From one of his pockets the boy drew out a twisted piece of paper, flattened it with one grubby hand upon the other, and spelled out the name. Then to my amazement, he handed the note to me.

"Where did you get this from?" I demanded.

He told me that a lady had given it to him, and had given him also a shilling to find me. She had told him what I was like, and that I was a stranger in the village; my aimlessly wandering about the streets had done the rest, and had shown me to him. I added another shilling to the boy's new wealth on the spot, and he went away happy. Then I untwisted the note, and read what was written on it.

"I want to see you, and I must see you to-day. There is a place at the other side of the wood where you lay this morning—an old chalk-pit, half filled with water. At one side of that is a little ruined hut. I shall be there this evening at a little after six. I beg, that you will not fail me.

"DEBORA."

So much had I been tricked, and so little faith had I in man or woman then, that for a moment I believed that this was another trap set, into which my feet should stumble. But the next moment, I told myself that surely this village boy would not have lied to me over the matter. A woman had sent the note, and it could be but one woman. I thrust the precious paper into my pocket, and set off then and there, with my heart singing within me, to the place appointed.

I came to it well before the time, and found it to be just as the note described. I had kept well away from the wood, and I came easily to the old disused chalk-pit, which had in it a small pond of stagnant water, formed by the rains of many seasons. Half-way up one side of it was the little hut to which Debora had referred. I made my way to it at once. Sitting down on an old bench, I looked through the open door, and so could command the way by which she would come.

The time drew on, and still I saw nothing of her. I was beginning to think that some one had discovered that she had communicated with me, or else that, after all, this might be a trap set for me. I blamed myself that I was here in this lonely place without a weapon. And then suddenly, far off, I saw what it was that had delayed her.

The evening was very still and very fine; I could see a long way. Presently, in the distance, I made out a figure walking backwards and forwards on the edge of the wood; after quite a long time I made it out to be the doctor. I knew in a moment that the man stood as a barrier between the girl in the house and me in the hut, and that while he kept unconscious guard there it was impossible for us to meet. Yet I was as helpless as she must be, and I could only wait until it pleased the man to go back to the house.

He must have walked there backwards and forwards for more than half an hour before I suddenly saw him in the clear light stop, and snap the fingers of his uninjured hand together, with the action of a man coming to a sudden quick resolution; then he turned, and went off with long strides in the direction of the house. I wondered what he was going to do.

I endured another period of waiting that seemed interminable; and then I saw her coming quickly through the wood and down towards the chalk-pit. She skirted the edge of it, and came on quickly towards where I stood in the doorway of the hut waiting for her. After her declaration in the house, in the presence of the two men, I could not know in what mood she came, and I was puzzled how I should greet her. About that, however, I need not have thought at all, for the miracle of it was that she came straight towards me, with her eyes shining, and her hands stretched out towards me, so that in the most wonderful way, and yet in a way most natural, I took her suddenly in my arms. And she broke at once into a torrent of prayers and excuses.

"Oh, my dear! my dear! I was so afraid you would not meet me. I have not deserved that you should; it might have happened that you would not understand, and would believe that all the hateful things I said were meant by me. You didn't believe that, did you?"

"Well—yes, I did," I stammered. "What else could I believe?"

"Don't you understand that I should have had no chance at all with those men, unless I had thrown them off their guard? I hated myself afterwards, when they laughed and joked about you; I could have killed them. Then I made up my mind that I must send and find you."

"It was wonderful that the boy should know me so easily," I answered. "How did you describe me?"

She hung her head, and I saw the colour mount from neck to brow. "I told the boy to look for a man with the mark of a blow across his face," she whispered; and then, before I could prevent her, even had I wished, she had put her arms about my neck and had drawn my head down, and was kissing me passionately on the mark itself. "That's to heal it—and that—and that—and that!" she whispered.

We were both more composed presently, and were seated side by side on the old bench inside the hut. We had no fear of being surprised by anyone; the side of the chalk-pit went up sheer behind the hut, and from the edge of it all was open country. Before us, as I have said, stretched the chalk-pit itself, and the wood, and beyond that the grounds of the house. So we sat contentedly, and looked into each other's eyes, and said what we wanted to say.

"It came upon me suddenly," began Debora, "this morning when I turned and saw Dr. Just on his knees, holding his wrist. I seemed to know instinctively that you had shot him. I knew, dear, that you would not run away, and I had time before they sent for me to make up my mind what to do. I had not quite realised what he had meant to do. I did not think he would be daring enough to shoot me in that fashion. But I am glad, for your sake, that you did not kill him."

"So am I—now," I replied. "And you do believe, my dearest girl, that he has really tried on these three occasions to take your life?"

"I know it," she answered, with a little shiver. "But it is for the last time. See"—she placed her hands in mine, and looked fearlessly into my eyes—"for the future you shall look after me—you shall take care of me. Is that too bold a thing to say?"

I drew her close to me. "No, Debora mine," I whispered, "because I love you. I am what you called me—a thing without a name, but in my heart I am honest; in my heart I love the name that has been given me, because by that you first knew me."

I told her of my plans: that we should go away then and there, and that for that night I would give her the room I had taken at the inn, and would find a lodging in another place. Then, quite early, before anyone we need fear was awake, we would start off into the world, on some impossible mission of making a fortune, and living happily for ever afterwards.

"But you forget, John dear—I have a fortune already," she reminded me. "That belongs to me—that we must get."

I was troubled at the thought of that, troubled lest she might believe, even for one fleeting moment, that I set that fortune as of greater value than herself. I was about to speak of it when she suddenly turned to me, and began to speak with the deepest earnestness of quite another matter.

"There is something I must say to you—now, before we leave this place," she said. "I want first of all to tell you that I never loved Gregory Pennington; he was only my dear friend—my brother."

"I am glad," I answered simply.

"And I want to tell you now that I am absolutely certain in my own mind that the boy never killed himself."

I was so startled that for a moment I could not answer her. She glanced out of the door of the hut, as though fearing that even in that place she might be overheard, and then went on speaking at a great rate:

"It was the last thing he would have done; there was no reason for it at all. He was happy, because he had always the mistaken hope that he might persuade me to love him. On the very night of his death—the night when you came there—he, too, had tried to persuade me to leave the house, and go away with him; like yourself, he believed that I was not safe with Dr. Just. Do you believe for a moment that, having said that to me, he would walk into the house and put a rope about his neck? No, I won't believe it!"

"But, my darling, how else could he have died?" I asked.

She answered me quite solemnly, and with the same deep earnestness I had heard in her tones before. "He was killed—murdered—by Dr. Just!"

"But why?" I asked stupidly.

"For the same reason that would prompt the man to seek your death, if he could," she said. "Bardolph Just knew that Gregory Pennington wanted to get me to go away; Gregory probably told him so that night. If I went away and married anyone, my fortune went with me, and it is my horrible fortune that has come near to losing me my life. I know, as surely as if I had seen it done, that the doctor killed Gregory Pennington. That he hanged him afterwards, to give colour to the idea of suicide, I quite believe; that would account for his anxiety to let you change places with the dead man."

"Another thought occurs to me," I said, after a pause. "Poor Gregory Pennington's servant—the man Capper—must have seen what happened; the shock of it has left his mind a blank."

"I wonder," said Debora slowly, "I wonder if Capper will ever speak!"

That thought had been in my mind too, but I had been too startled at what I had heard to speak of it. We left the matter where it was, and as the twilight was now coming on, came out of the hut and took our way by a circuitous route back towards the village. I took the girl to the inn, and left her in charge of the kindly landlady, giving the woman instructions that under no circumstances was she to let anyone know that the girl was there. I think the landlady scented a runaway match, for she smiled and nodded, and put a finger on her lips in token of silence.

Nothing happened, however, during that night; and in the morning quite early Debora stepped out of the little inn into the village street, and we went off happily together to the railway station. There, by an early market train, we got to London, coming to it just as all the people were pouring into the busy city for the day. I took Debora to a little, old-fashioned hotel that I had heard of near the Charterhouse, and left her there while I set off on a mission of my own. I had determined that, before ever I saw my uncle, or availed myself of his promise to look after the girl, I would go again to that solitary house in which Gregory Pennington had died, and would find the man Capper. For now I had the threads of the thing strongly in my fingers; I knew from what point to start, and I could put certain questions to Capper that he might be able to answer.

I came to the house soon after mid-day, and opened the gate in the fence and went in. Lest I should be refused admission for any reason, I determined that I would, if possible, slip into the house by the back way; and I made my way cautiously round there. So it happened that I came in sight of that open window, on the window-seat of which I had left Mr. George Rabbit reclining while he kept guard over the little grey-headed man called Capper. And I was in time to see a curious scene enacted before my eyes at that very window, just as though it had been a scene in some play. I was hidden among the trees, so that no one saw me, but I could both see and hear distinctly.

Standing with his back to the window, and with his arms folded, was George Rabbit, and his attitude was evidently one of defiance. Leaning against the side of the window-frame, watching him, and glancing also at someone else within the room, stood Capper, with nervous fingers plucking at his lips, and with that vacant smile upon his face. The man Rabbit was speaking.

"I know too much to be turned aht, or to be told to do this or to do that. I'm much too fly for that, guv'nor, an' so I tell yer. Money's my game, 'an money I mean to 'ave."

The voice that replied, to my very great surprise, was the voice of Bardolph Just. "We'll see about that, you dog!" he shouted. And with that I ran round at once through the back door, into the house, and made for the room.

I darted in, in time to see the doctor with a heavy stick raised in his right hand; he was in the very act of bringing it down with all his force, in a very passion of rage, on the head of George Rabbit. The man put up his arm in time to save his head, and drew back with a cry of pain, and stopped dead on seeing me. The doctor swung round, too, and lowered the stick.

But the strangest thing of all was the sight of the man Capper. As that blow had fallen, his eyes had been fixed upon the doctor; and I had seen a great change come suddenly over his face. It was as if the man had been turned into another being, so strangely had the face lighted up. He gave what was nothing more nor less than a scream, and leapt straight for the doctor. As the doctor swung about at the sound, the man Capper caught him by the throat, and held on, and swayed about with him, and seemed to be striving to choke him.

"Murder!" he shrieked, and again yet louder, "Murder!"