It were in vain to say that Beauchamp felt no sort of anxiety. The very excitement of the whole business made his heart beat with a quicker pulse than usual; and he listened eagerly as they ascended the stairs for any sound that might announce their proximity to the chamber of the murderers. He was not long kept in expectation. At the first door they reached, after passing the _entresol_ the young sailor paused, and rang the bell twice. As soon as ever he had done so, he whispered to Beauchamp, "I will take this one, whoever it is that opens the door. You run on, and secure the other in the room beyond--I will follow in a minute." Almost as he spoke, the door was thrown open, and the coarse face of Tony Smithson, the man who had gone down with him in the stage-coach to Emberton, was exposed to Beauchamp's sight. He had a light in his hand, and the moment he saw that there were two men on the stairs, he would have started back, and retreated; but the young sailor sprang upon him at once, grappled with him tight, and in an instant both rolled together on the floor of the little anteroom. Beauchamp rushed forward to a door which was standing a-jar on the other side of the chamber, and whence there issued forth an intolerable smell of brandy-punch, together with the sounds of laughter. He reached it in a moment, but not before the noise of the struggle without, had caught the ears of the tenants of the room; for when Beauchamp flung wide the door, he found the murderer Harding, already, with a pistol in each hand, retreating into one corner of the room, from a table covered with bottles, glasses, and bowls, cards, dice, and markers; while the unfortunate wretch, whom we have already seen as the dirty maid of the old miser at Ryebury, now tricked out in all the gay smartness of Parisian costume, stood by the table, with sudden terror and agony in her countenance. The moment her eyes rested on Beauchamp's face, she saw that her fate was sealed, and with a loud scream, she fell, fainting, by the table. Harding, however, with scowling determination in his brow, placed his back in the corner, and pointed the pistol he held directly towards his former master. Beauchamp paused, and levelled his own weapon at the villain's head, exclaiming sternly, but coolly, "Throw down your arms, sir! You know, I never miss my aim!" Harding paused for a moment, slightly dropping the point of his pistol; and Beauchamp, as they stood face to face, at the distance of half a dozen yards, could see the corners of his mouth draw gradually down, into a sort of sneering smile. The next instant he replied, "I know you never miss your aim; I do--and therefore, this is the best use I can make of my bullet," and he rapidly turned the pistol towards his own head.