“Not entirely,” replied Jonathan, calmly; “though I shouldn't be ashamed of it if it were. After all, you failed in obtaining the secret from her, Sir Rowland. Women are hypocrites to the last--true only to themselves.” “Peace!” cried the knight, fiercely. “No offence,” returned Jonathan. “I was merely about to observe that _I_ am in possession of her secret.” “You!” “Didn't I tell you that the fugitive Darrell gave me a glove! But we'll speak of this hereafter. You can _purchase_ the information from me whenever you're so disposed. I shan't drive a hard bargain. To the point however. I came back to say, that I've placed your nephew in a coach; and, if you'll be at my lock in the Old Bailey an hour after midnight, you shall hear the last tidings of him.” “I will be there,” answered Trenchard, gloomily. “You'll not forget the thousand, Sir Rowland--short accounts, you know.” “Fear nothing. You shall have your reward.” “Thank'ee,--thank'ee. My house is the next door to the Cooper's Arms, in the Old Bailey, opposite Newgate. You'll find me at supper.” So saying, he bowed and departed. “That man should have been an Italian bravo,” murmured the knight, sinking into a chair: “he has neither fear nor compunction. Would I could purchase his apathy as easily as I can procure his assistance.” Soon after this Mrs. Norris entered the room, followed by Father Spencer. On approaching the couch, they found Sir Rowland senseless, and extended over the dead body of his unfortunate sister. CHAPTER XI. THE MOHOCKS.