In the passage he paused an instant to shut and relock the front door, which had remained open from their first entrance. Then he turned to consider his ground. A narrow flight of stairs rose before him; beyond, at the black end of the passage, a second dropped into the basement. He mounted the former in the first instance, his heart beating thickly, and came to a little cluster of rooms, three in all, which revealed nothing but dust and emptiness and peeling wall-paper. Satisfied that they contained, and could contain, no secret, he left them, and, returning to the passage, descended to the basement. He knew now that what he sought, if it existed, must be hidden somewhere here. A sense of something monstrous to be revealed tingled in his veins; stealthy things seemed to rustle and escape before him; at the bottom of the flight he hesitated, momentarily sickened from his quest. What business was it of his? A bugbear, very likely, of his own fancy! The shock of unforeseen defection in an act of larceny was no doubt sufficient to account for the state of the man above. A glow came to his face in the darkness. He was glad that heaven and he had been alone together with that shameful thought. He breathed out all his pusillanimity in a great scornful sigh--and the sigh was answered. He stood a moment as if paralysed. It had been little and tremulous, but unmistakable--an echo, perhaps, of his own. Vaulted darkness gasped at him in front, exhaling a smell of cold flags and cold soot. Close beside him was the near-closed door of the coal-cellar. In a sudden spasm of horror he pushed this open, and, casting his light before him, saw the body of a young girl lying prone upon her back on the stones. Now a great sorrow and pity came on the instant to nerve him. He bent to look into the bloodless face and saw its eyes closed, its white lips parted; but the nostrils quivered slightly and he knew that she still lived. There was little need to question what had struck her down. High on the bosom of the cheap frock she wore was a crimson splash, and from under her shoulder spread and crawled a black and sluggish little pool. But she was not dead. God help him yet to mend a deed so foul and inhuman! He rose--hope was to the swift. As he turned to go he saw leaning against the wall a spade and mattock, and he shuddered in the knowledge of their purpose. It was with a face as set as stone that he came hurrying into the little room above. “He has shot her,” he said. “She is lying in the cellar--but she still breathes. Look to him there while I run for a doctor.” He was gone before the officer could speak. But, at his words, the abject figure in the chair had ceased to moan and writhe. It sat up; it made an attempt with its damp manacled hands to repoint the little red spurs on its lip; it spoke even in a thick unsteady voice:--