'Never,' exclaimed Clinton, resolutely--'rather will I die here. If you attempt to carry me forcibly with you, I will struggle and resist--I will proclaim to the guests in the ball room your dread character and name; the mask will be torn from your face, and you will be dragged back to prison, from whence you escaped.' For the second time did the Dead Man pause, and reflect profoundly. He thought somewhat in this wise:--'There is no possible means of egress from this place, except thro' the ball room, which is crowded with guests. True, I might bind and gag the _Kinchen_, but his struggles would be sure to attract attention--and my discovery and capture would be the result. It is evident, therefore, that I cannot carry him forcibly hence, with safety to myself. Shall I _murder_ him? No, damn it, 'tis hardly worth my while to do that--and somehow or other, these murders almost invariably lead to detection. The devil himself couldn't save my neck if I were to be hauled up on another murder--yet, by hell, I must risk it in reference to that Mrs. Stevens, whose testimony would be apt to save her accursed nephew, Sydney, from the gallows. Yes, I must slit the old lady's windpipe; but the _Kinchen_--what the devil shall I do to keep _him_ from blabbing, since I can't make up my mind to kill him?' Suddenly, a horrible thought flashed through the villain's mind. '_Kinchen_,' he whispered, with a fiend-like laugh--'I have thought of a plan by which to _silence your tongue forever_.' He drew a huge clasp-knife from his pocket. Ere Clinton could cry out for assistance, the monster grasped him by the throat with his vice-like fingers--the poor boy's tongue protruded from his mouth--and oh, horrible! the incarnate devil, suddenly loosening his hold on the throat, quick as lightning caught hold of the tongue, and forcibly drew it out to its utmost tension--then, with one rapid stroke of his sharp knife, he _cut it off_, and threw it from him with a howl of savage satisfaction. 'Now, d----n you,' exclaimed the Dead Man--'see if you can testify in court!' The victim sank upon the floor, weltering in his blood, while the barbarian who had perpetrated the monstrous outrage, fled from the conservatory, passed through the ball room and proceeded with rapid strides towards the residence of Mrs. Stevens, Sydney's aunt, in Grand Street, having first put on the mask which he wore to conceal the repulsive aspect of his countenance. He found the house without difficulty, for he remembered the number which poor Clinton had given him; and ascending the steps, he knocked boldly at the door. The summons was speedily answered by a servant who ushered the Dead Man into a parlor, saying that her mistress would be down directly. In a few moments the door opened and Mrs. Stevens entered the room.