"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.