When the unconscious law-clerk had been laid on Lionel’s bed, said Tom: “Now help me off with his coat, waistcoat, necktie, collar, and boots.” It was a work of some little difficulty to accomplish all this, but it was done at last. Then, by Tom’s instructions, Creede was stretched on the bed with his face to the wall, in the natural position of a sleeping man, and the bedclothes pulled over him. Up to the present time Lionel had not asked a single question, but he could contain himself no longer. “In heaven’s name, Bristow, what do all these strange proceedings mean?” “They mean, Lionel Dering,” said Tom, turning on him gravely, almost sternly, “that I am here to-night for the purpose of effecting your escape.” “Of effecting my escape!” “What other purpose do you think would have brought me here in this disguise?” “But—but——” stammered Lionel, and then he broke down utterly. “Every minute is precious,” said Tom. “There is no time to argue the case. Put yourself into my hands, and it will go hard but you will be a free man in an hour’s time. Refuse my aid, and in less than three weeks from now you will be lying, a strangled corpse, in a murderer’s grave.” Lionel shuddered and stared at Tom, but spoke not a single word. “The trial is going against you, and to-morrow morning will see you condemned to death. Are you prepared to die by the hangman’s hand for a crime of which you know nothing? Are you prepared to leave your young wife to the tender mercies of a world which will not fail to remember that her husband was a murderer? Live, man, live, if it be only for vengeance—if it be only to track out and hunt down the real murderer—if it be only to wipe the foul stain of blood from the name you bear—from the name which was borne by your father before you!” “But why to-night?—why try to escape to-night?” pleaded Lionel. “The verdict has not yet been given. Who says that there is no chance of my acquittal?” “I say it. Hoskyns says it. Tressil thinks it. You will be condemned to death to-morrow morning. After that, all chance of escape will be gone for ever. From that moment you will never be left alone till that most awful moment of all when you stand on the drop, pinioned, sightless, waiting for the bolt to fall. Dering, it must be to-night or never!” “Bristow, I am in your hands—do with me as you will!” cried Lionel with emotion; and suiting the action to the word, he rose from the edge of the bed, and placed both his hands in those of his friend. “That’s all I ask, old boy,” said Tom warmly. “Now sit down here, and obey my instructions, and don’t bother me with any questions.” Lionel did as he was told, and sat down close under the gas light. “There’s no help for it,” said Tom. “Both beard and moustache must be sacrificed.” “So be it,” said Lionel philosophically. “They will grow again if need be.”