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Mercy's eyes were not more red than their expression was one of bewilderment. She moved off mechanically. When she reached the foot of the stairs she turned and tried to speak. The words would not come. At length she said, in a strange voice: "You did not tell me the truth."

"Mercy!"

"Where's Parson Christian?" said Mercy, and her voice grew stern.

"You must not use that tone to me. Come, get away to bed, little one."

Her eyes dropped before his. She turned away. He watched her up the stairs. So sure of hand was he that not even at that moment did he doubt his hold of her. But Mercy did not go to bed. She turned in at the open door of Drayton's room. The room was dark; only a fitful ray of bleared moonlight fell crosswise on the floor; but she could see that the unconscious figure of Paul Ritson lay stretched upon the bed.

"And I have led you here with a lie!" she thought. Then her head swam and fell on to the counterpane. Some minutes passed in silence. She was aroused by footsteps in the passage outside. They were coming toward this room. The door, which stood ajar, was pushed open. There was no time for Mercy to escape, so she crept back into the darkness of a narrow space between the foot of the bed and the wall.

Two men entered. Mercy realized their presence in the dark room rather by the sense of touch than by the sense of hearing or sight. They walked lightly, the darkness hid them, but the air seemed heavy with their hot breath. One of them approached the bedside; Mercy felt the bed quiver. The man leaned over it, and there was a pause. Only the scarcely perceptible breathing of the insensible man fell on the silence.

"He's safe enough still," said a voice that thrilled her through and through. "Now for it – there's no time to lose!"

The girl crouched down and held her breath.

"Damme if I ain't wishing myself well out of it!" muttered another voice.

Mercy knew both men. They were Hugh Ritson and Paul Drayton.

Hugh closed the door. "What simpleton says fortune favors the brave?" he said, in a low, derisive tone. "Here is fortune at the feet of a man like you!"

Drayton growled, and Mercy heard the oath that came from beneath his breath. "I'm wanting to be out of this, and I ain't ashamed for you to know it."

Hugh Ritson's light laugh came from the bedside. He was still standing by Paul Ritson's head. "If the lord mayor came for you in his carriage, with a guard of flunkies, you would leave this house in less safety," he said. Then he added, impatiently: "Come, waste no words; strip off that tell-tale coat."

With this he leaned over the bed, and there was a creak of the spring mattress.

"What's that?" said Drayton, in an affrighted tone.

"For God's sake, be a man!" said Hugh, bitterly.

"D'ye call this a man's work?" muttered Drayton.

The light laugh once more. "Perhaps not so manly as robbing the dead and dying," said Hugh Ritson, and his voice was deep and cold.

Mercy heard another muttered oath. Dear God! what was about to be done? Could she escape? The door was closed. Still, if she could but reach it, she might open it and fly away.

At that instant, Hugh Ritson, as if apprehending her thought, said, "Wait," and then stepped back to the door and drew the snap bolt. Mercy leaned against the wall, and heard the beating of her heart. In the darkness she knew that Paul Drayton had thrown off his coat. "A good riddance!" he muttered, and the heavy garment fell with a thud.

Hugh Ritson had returned to the bed-head. "Give me a hand," he said; "raise him gently – there, I'll hold him up – now draw off his coat – quietly, one arm at a time. Is it free? Then, lift – away."

Another heavy garment fell with a thud.

"What's the fence got in his other pockets, eh?"

"Come, lend your hand again – draw off the boots – they're Cumberland make, and yours are cockney style – quick!"

Drayton stepped to the bottom of the bed and fumbled at the feet of the insensible man. He was then within a yard of the spot where the girl stood. She could feel his proximity, and the alcoholic fumes of his breath rose to her nostrils. She was dizzy, and thought she must have fallen. She stretched out one hand to save herself, and it fell on to the bed-rail. It was within a foot of Drayton's arm.

"Take off his stockings – they're homespun – while I remove the cravat. The pin was a present; it has his name engraved on the plate behind."

The slant of the moonlight had died off the floor, and all was dark.

Drayton's craven fears seemed to leave him. He laughed and crowed. "How quiet the fence is – very obliging, I'm sure – just fainted in the nick of time. Will it last?"

"Quick! strip off your own clothes and put them where these have come from. The coat with the torn lapel – where is it? Make no mistake about that."

"I'll pound it, no!" Drayton laughed a short, hoarse laugh.

There was some shuffling in the darkness. Then a pause.

"Hush!"

Mercy knew that Hugh Ritson had grasped the arm of Drayton, and that both held their breath. At that moment the moonlight returned, and the bleared shaft that had once crossed the floor now crossed the bed. The light fell on the face of the prostrate man. His eyes were open.

"Water – water!" said Paul Ritson, very feebly.

Hugh Ritson stepped out of the moonlight and went behind his brother. Then Mercy saw a hand before Paul's face, putting a spirit flask to his mouth.

When the hand was raised the face twitched slightly, the eyes closed with a convulsive tremor, and the half-lifted head fell back on to the pillow.

"He'll be quieter than ever now," said Hugh Ritson, softly. Mercy thought she must have screamed, but the instinct of self-preservation kept her still. She stirred not a limb. Her head rested against the wall, her eyes peered into the darkness, her parched tongue and parted lips burned like fire.

"Quick! put his clothes on to your own back, and let us be gone."

Drayton drew on the garments and laughed hoarsely. "And a good fit, too – same make of a man to a T – ex – act – ly!"

The window and the door stood face to face; the bed was on the left of the door, with the head at the door-end. The narrow alcove in which the girl stood was to the left of the window, and in front of the window there was a dressing-table. Drayton stepped up to this table to fix the cravat by the glass. The faint moonlight that fell on his grinning face was reflected dimly into the mirror.

At that moment Mercy's sickening eyes turned toward the bed. There, in repose that was like death itself, lay the upturned face of Paul Ritson. Two faces cast by nature in the same mold – one white and serene and peaceful, the other bloated, red, smirking, distorted by passion, with cruel eyes and smoking lips.

"The very thing – the very thing – damme if his own mother wouldn't take me for her son!"

Hugh Ritson stepped to Drayton's side. When he spoke his voice was like a cold blast of wind.

"Now listen: From this moment at which you change your coat for his you cease to be Paul Drayton, and become Paul Ritson."

"Didn't you say I was to be Paul Lowther?"

"That will come later."

"As I say, it won't go into my nob."

"No matter; say nothing to yourself but this, 'I am to pretend to be Paul Ritson.'"

"Well, now for it!"

"Ready?" asked Hugh. He returned to the bed-head.

"Ready."

"Then give a hand here. We must put him up into your garret. When the police come for him he must seem to be in hiding and in drink. You understand?"

A low, hoarse laugh was the only answer.

Then they lifted the unconscious man from the bed, opened the door, and carried him into the passage.

Mercy recovered her stunned senses. When the men were gone she crept out on tiptoe and tripped down the passage to her own room. At the door she reeled and fell heavily. Then, in a vague state of consciousness, she heard these words passed over her – "Carry her back into her room and lock her in." At the same instant she felt herself being lifted in a strong man's arms.

CHAPTER XVI

Before Gubblum Oglethorpe parted with Jabez, he tried to undo the mischief he had done. "Give us a shak' o' thy daddle," he said, holding out his hand. But Jabez had not forgotten the similitude of the swine ring. He made no response.

"Dang him for a fool!" thought Gubblum. "He's as daft as a besom." Then Gubblum remembered with what lavish generosity he had bribed the pot-boy to no purpose. "He cover't a shilling dammish," he thought; "I'll dang his silly head off!"

Jabez put down the candle and backed out of the room, his eyes fixed on the peddler with a ghostly stare.

"You needn't boggle at me. I'll none hurt ye," said Gubblum. Jabez pulled the door after him. "His head's no'but a lump of puddin' and a daub o' pancake," thought Gubblum.

Then the peddler sat on the bed and began to wonder what possible reason there might be for the lad's sudden change of temper. He sat long, and many crude notions trotted through his brain. At last he recalled the fact that he had said something about Jabez's snout carrying a swine ring. That was the rub, sure enough. "I mak' no doobt he thowt it was a by-wipe," thought Gubblum.

Just as the peddler had arrived at this sapient conclusion, he heard heavy footsteps ascending and descending the ladder that stood in the passage outside. Gubblum understood the sounds to mean that the inn was so full of visitors that some of them had to be lodged even in the loft. "Ey, I shouldn't wonder but this is a bonny paying consarn," he thought.

He undressed, got into bed, and blew out his light. He lay awhile waiting for sleep, and thinking of the failure of his plummets to sound the depths of Jabez. Then he remembered with vexation that the lad had even laughed at him in spite of the "shilling dammish."

"Shaf, it was no'but his guts crowkin'," thought Gubblum; and he rolled over, face to the wall, and began to pay nasal tribute to sleep.

From the slowly tightening grip of unconsciousness Gubblum was roused to sudden wakefulness. There was a noise as of heavy shuffling feet outside his door. The peddler raised himself and listened.

"Too dark in this corner," said a voice. "Get a light."

Gubblum crept out of bed, held his head to the door, and listened.

There were retreating steps. Then the man who had spoken before spoke again. "Quick, there! we must catch the train at eleven fifteen."

The voice pealed in Gubblum's memory. He knew it. It was the voice of the last man he should have looked for in this house – Hugh Ritson.

Presently the footsteps approached, and thin fingers of light shot over Gubblum's head into his dark room. He looked up at the door. Three small round holes had been pierced into the styles for ventilation.

"Put the candle on the floor and take the feet – I'll go up first," said the same voice.

Gubblum raised himself on tiptoe and tried to peer through the perforations. He was too small a man to see through. There was a chair by the side of his bed, and his extinguished candle stood on it. He removed the candlestick, lifted the chair cautiously, placed its back to the door, and mounted it. Then he saw all.

There were two men, and he knew both – the brothers Ritson. Ah! had he not said that Paul Ritson kept this inn? "I'll shut up the whole boilin' of 'em next time," thought the peddler, "Wait! what are they lugging into the pigeon loft?"

"Easy! – damme, but the fence is a weight!"

It was the hoarse voice of the other man. The candle was behind him and on the floor. It cast its light on his back. "If I could no'but get a blink frae the cannel, I'd see what's atween them," thought Gubblum.

The men with their burden were now at the top of the ladder.

"Twist about, and go in sideways," muttered the voice first heard.

The man below twisted. This movement brought the full light of the candle on to the faces of all three.

"Lord A'mighty, whativer's this?" Gubblum thought.

The burden was a man's body. But it was the face that startled the peddler – the face of Paul Ritson.

Gubblum's eyes passed over the group in one quick glance. He saw two Paul Ritsons there, and one of them lay as still as the dead.

A minute more of awful tension, and the door of the loft above was slammed and shut, the heavy feet of the two men descended the ladder quickly, and went down the stairs into the bar.

Gubblum listened as if with every sense. He knew that the outer door to the road had opened and closed. He heard footsteps dying away in the distance without. All was silent within the house.

Two men hastening in the night to the Hendon railway station paused at that turn of the road which leads to the police offices and jail.

"You go on and take care of yourself – I'll follow in five minutes," said one.

"You ain't going to give a man away?" said the other.

There was only a contemptuous snort for answer. The first speaker had turned on his heel. When he reached the police offices, he rang the bell. The door was answered by a sergeant in plain clothes. "I've found your man for you," said Hugh Ritson.

"Where, sir?"

"At the Hawk and Heron."

"Who is he?"

"Paul Drayton. You'll find him lying in the garret at the west end of the gable – drunk. Lose not an hour. Go at once."

"Is the gentleman who struggled with him still staying there – Mr. Paul Ritson?"

"No; he goes back home to-night."

"What's his address in the country?"

"The Ghyll, Newlands, Cumberland."

"And yours, sir?"

"I am his brother, Hugh Ritson, and my address is the same."

"We'll go this instant."

"Well, take your piece of frieze with you and see if it fits. It was by the torn ulster that I recognized your man. Good-night."

CHAPTER XVII

As soon as the noise of the retiring steps had died away on Gubblum's ear, he dressed himself partially, opened the door of his bedroom cautiously, and stepped into the passage. He was still in the dark, and groping with one hand, he felt for the ladder by which the two men had carried their burden to the loft above. He had grasped the lowest rungs of it, and was already some steps up, when he heard a singular noise. It was something between the cry of a child and the deep moan of a sick man. Did it come from the loft? Gubblum held his head in that direction and listened. No; the sound was from the other end of the passage. Now it was gone, and all was quiet. What a strange house was this!

"Can't see a styme," thought Gubblum. "I'll away for the cannel."

Back in his bedroom he struck a match, and then stepped afresh into the passage, guarding the newly lighted candle with the palm of his hand. Then there came a shrill cry. It seemed to be before him, above him, behind him, everywhere about him. Gubblum's knees gave way, but the stubborn bit of heart in him was not to be shaken.

"A rayder queerly sort of a house," he thought; and at that instant there were heavy lunges at a door at the further end of the passage, and a cry of "Help! help!"

Gubblum darted in the direction of the voice.

"Let me out!" cried the voice from within.

Gubblum tried the door. It was locked.

"Help! help!" came again.

"In a sniffer; rest ye a bit!" shouted Gubblum, and putting the light on the floor, he planted his shoulder against the door, and one foot against the opposite wall.

"Help! help! let me out! quick, quick!" came once more from within.

"Sec a skrummidge!" shouted Gubblum, panting for breath.

Then the lock gave way and the door flew open. In the midst of the bad light Gubblum saw nothing at first. Then a woman with wild eyes and a face of anguish came out on him from the dark room. It was Mercy Fisher.

When they recognized each other there was a moment of silence. But it was only a moment, and that moment was too precious to be lost. In a flood of tears the girl told him what had happened.

Gubblum understood no more than that villainy had been at work. Mercy saw nothing but that she had been deceived and had been herself the instrument of deception. This was enough.

"The raggabrash! I'd like to rozzle their backs with an ash stick," said Gubblum.

"Oh, where have they taken him – where, where?" cried Mercy, wringing her hands.

"Don't put on wi' thee – I know," said Gubblum. "I questit them up the stairs. Come along wi' me, lass, and don't slobber and yowl like a barn."

Gubblum whipped up his candle, and hurried along the passage and up the ladder like a monkey, Mercy following at his heels.

"Belike they've locked this door forby," he said.

But no, the key was in the lock. Gubblum turned it and pushed it open. Then he peered into the garret, holding the candle above his head. When the light penetrated the darkness, they saw a man's figure outstretched on a mattress that lay on the bare floor of the empty room. They ran up to it, and raised the head.

"It's his fadder's son, I'll uphod thee," said Gubblum. "And yon riff-raff, his spitten picter, is no'but some wastrel merry-begot."

Mercy was down on her knees beside the insensible man, chafing his hands. There was a tremulous movement of the eyelids.

"Sista, he's coming tul't. Slip away for watter, lass," said Gubblum.

Mercy was gone and back in an instant.

"Let a be, let a be – he'll come round in a crack. Rub his forehead – stir thy hand, lass – pour the watter – there, that's enough – plenty o' butter wad sto a dog. Sista, he's coming tul't fast."

Paul Ritson had opened his eyes.

"Slip away for mair watter, lass – there, that's summat like – rest ye, my lad – a drink? – ey, a sup o' watter."

Paul looked around him. His filmy eyes were full of questions. But at first his tongue would not speak. He looked up at the bare skylight and around at the bleached walls, and then back into the face of the peddler. He noticed Mercy, and smiled.

"Where are we, my girl?" he said, faintly.

"This is the Hawk and Heron," she answered.

"How do I come to be here?" he asked.

Mercy covered her face, and sobbed.

"I brought you," she said, at length.

Paul looked at her a moment with bewildered eyes. Then the tide of memory flowed back upon his mind.

"I remember," he said, quietly; "I was feeling dizzy – hadn't slept two nights – not even been in bed – walked the streets the long hours through."

Everything had rushed over him in a moment, and he closed his eyes with a deep groan. At his feet Mercy buried her face and sobbed aloud.

Paul drew himself feebly up on his elbow.

"Where is Parson Christian?" he asked, and gazed around, with a faint smile.

The girl's anguish overflowed.

"That was a lie I told you," she sobbed.

The smile fled away.

"A lie! Why a lie?"

He was struggling with a dazed sense.

"I told you that Parson Christian was here and wanted you. He is not here."

And Mercy's weeping seemed to choke her.

"My good girl, and why?"

"They brought you to this room and left you, and now they are gone."

"They! Who?"

"Your brother Hugh and Mr. Drayton."

Paul looked deadly sick at heart.

"Who is this Drayton?"

"The spitten picter of yourself, my lad," said Gubblum; "the man I telt ye of lang ago – him as keeps this house."

Paul's eyes wandered vacantly. His nervous fingers twitched at the ulster that he wore.

"What's this?" he said, and glanced down at his altered dress.

"When you were insensible they stripped you of your clothes and put others on you," said Mercy.

"Whose clothes are these?"

"Mr. Drayton's."

Paul Ritson rose to his feet.

"Where are the men?" he said, in a husky voice.

"Gone."

"Where?"

"To the station – that was all I heard."

Paul gazed about with hazy eyes. Mercy flung herself at his feet and wept bitterly.

"Forgive me! oh, forgive me!"

He looked down at her with a confused expression. His brain was benumbed. He drew one arm across his face as though struggling to recover some lost link of memory.

"Why, my good lass, what's this?" he said, and then smiled faintly and made an attempt to raise her up.

"Who is at the convent at Westminster?" she asked.

Then all his manner changed.

"Why? – what of that?" he said.

"Mrs. Drayton was sent there in a cab to tell Mrs. Ritson to be at St. Pancras Station at midnight to meet her husband and return to Cumberland."

The face that had been pale became suddenly old and ghastly. There was an awful silence.

"Is this the truth?" he asked.

"Yes, yes," cried the girl.

"I think I see it all now – I think I understand," he faltered.

"Forgive me!" cried the girl.

He seemed hardly to see her.

"I have been left in this room insensible, and the impostor who resembles me – where is he now?"

He struggled with the sickness that was mastering him. His brain reeled. The palms of his hands became damp. He staggered and leaned against the wall.

"Rest ye a bit, my lad," said Gubblum. "You'll be gitten stanch agen soon."

He recovered his feet. His face was charged with new anger.

"And the wicked woman who trapped me to this house is still here," he said, in a voice thick with wrath.

"Forgive me! forgive me!" wept the girl at his feet.

He took her firmly by the shoulders, raised her to her knees, and turned her face upward till her eyes met his.

"Let me look at her," he said, hoarsely. "Who would have believed it?"

"Forgive me! forgive me!" cried the girl.

"Woman, woman! what had I done to you – what, what?"

The girl's sobs alone made answer.

In his rage he took her by the throat. A fearful purpose was written in his face.

"And this is the woman who bowed down the head of her old father nigh to the grave," he said, bitterly, and flung her from him.

Then he staggered back. His little strength had left him. There was silence. Only the girl's weeping could be heard.

The next instant, strangely calm, without a tear in his sad eyes, he stepped to her side and raised her to her feet.

"I was wrong," he said; "surely I was wrong. You could not lie to me like that, and know it. No, no, no!"

"They told me what I told you," said the girl.

"And I blamed you for it all, poor girl."

"Then you forgive me?" she said, lifting her eyes timidly.

"Forgive you? – ask God to forgive you, girl. I am only a man, and you have wrecked my life."

There was a foot on the ladder, and Jabez, the boy, stepped up, a candle in his hand. He had been waiting for the landlady, when he heard voices overhead.

"The varra man!" shouted Gubblum. "Didsta see owt of thy master down-stairs?"

Jabez grinned, and glanced up at Paul Ritson.

"Hark ye, laal man, didsta see two men leaving the house a matter of fifteen minutes ago?"

"Belike I did," said Jabez. "And to be sure it were the gentleman that come here afore – and another one."

"Another one – your master, you mean?"

Jabez grinned from ear to ear.

"Didsta hear owt?"

"I heard the gentleman say they had to be at St. Pancras at midnight."

Paul fumbled at his breast for his watch. It was gone.

"What's o'clock?" he asked.

"Fifteen after eleven, master," said Jabez. "I've just bolted up."

Paul's face was full of resolution.

"I'll follow," he said; "I've lost time enough already."

"What, man! you'll never manish it – and you as weak as watter forby. You'll be falling swat in the road like a wet sack."

Paul had pulled the door open. Excitement lent him strength. The next moment he was gone.

"Where's the master off to? St. Pancras?" asked Jabez.

"Fadge-te-fadge, gang out of my gate! Away, and lig down your daft head in bed!" said Gubblum.

Jabez did not act on the peddler's advice. He returned to the bar to await the return of Mrs. Drayton, whose unaccustomed absence gave rise to many sapient conjectures in the boy's lachrymose noddle. He found the door to the road open, and from this circumstance his swift intelligence drew the conclusion that his master had already gone. His hand was on the door to close and bolt it, when he heard rapid footsteps approaching. In an instant two men pushed past him and into the house.

"Where's Mr. Drayton," said one, panting from his run.

"He's this minute gone," said Jabez.

"Is that true, my lad?" the man asked, laying a hand on the boy's shoulder.

"He's gone to St. Pancras, sir. He's got to be there at midnight," said Jabez.

The boy had recognized the visitors, and was trembling.

The men glanced into each other's faces.

"That was Drayton – the man that ran past us down the road," said one.

"Make sure of it," said the other. "Search the place; I'll wait for you here."

In two minutes more the men had left the house together.

A quarter of an hour later the night porter at the Hendon railway station saw a man run across the platform and leap into the up train just as the carriages were moving away. He remarked that the man was bareheaded, and wore his clothes awry, and that a rent near the collar of his long frieze ulster exposed a strip of red flannel lining. He thought he knew him.

The train had barely cleared the platform when two men ran up and came suddenly to a stand in front of the porter.

"Gone!" said one of them, with vexation.

"That would be the 11:35," said the other, "to King's Cross. Did any one get into it here, porter?"

"Yes, sergeant – Drayton, of the Hawk and Heron," said the porter.

"Your next up is 11:45 to St. Pancras?"

"Yes, sir, due at twelve."

"Is it prompt?"

"To the second."

The two men faced about.

"Time enough yet," said one.