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!"