Mr Barclay heaved himself up, and tried to rise; but one of his adversaries sat upon his chest while the other bound him hand and foot, an attempt at shouting for help being met by a pocket-handkerchief thrust into his mouth. A minute later, as Mr Barclay lay staring wildly, the rough woman, whom he recalled now as one of the servants, and who had hurried from the room, returned, helping Adela to support a pallid-looking man, whose hands, face, and rough working clothes were daubed with clayey soil. "Confound you! why didn't you bring down the brandy?" he said harshly.--"Gently, girls, gently. That's better. I'm half crushed.-- Who's that?" "Visitor," said one of Mr Barclay's captors sourly. "What's to be done?" Mr Barclay looked wildly from one to the other, asking himself whether all this was some dream. Who were these men? Where the elderly Misses Mimpriss? And what was the meaning of Adela Mimpriss being on such terms with the injured man, who looked as if he had been working in some mine? Their eyes met once, but she turned hers away directly, and held a glass of brandy to the injured man's lips. "That's better," he said. "I can talk now. I thought I was going to be smothered once.--Well, lads, the game's up." "Why?" said one of the others sharply. "Because it is. You won't catch me there again if I know it; and here's private inquiry at work from over the way." "Hold your tongue!" said the first man of the party. "There; he can't help himself now. You watch him, Bell; and if he moves, give warning." The rough woman seated herself beside Mr Barclay and watched him fiercely. The two men crossed over to their companion; while Adela, still looking cold and angry, with brow wrinkled up, drew back to stand against the table and listen. The men spoke in a low tone; but Mr Barclay caught a word now and then, from which he gathered that, while the man who had in some way been hurt was for giving up, the other two angrily declared that a short time would finish it now, and that they would go on with it at all hazards. "And what will you do with him?" said the injured man grimly. Mr Barclay could not help looking sharply at Adela, who just then met his eye, but it was with a look more of curiosity than anything else; and as she realised that he was gazing at her reproachfully, she turned away and watched the three men. "Very well," said the one who was hurt, "I wash my hands of what may follow." "All right." Mr Barclay turned cold as he wondered what was to happen next. He saw plainly enough now that the house had been let to a gang of men engaged upon some nefarious practice, but what it was he could not guess. Coining seemed to be the most likely thing; but from what he had heard and read, these men did not look like coiners.