“Dead as a door nail,” replied Mr. Cox, promptly. “I’d no idea he was such a delicate little man. What am I to do? Every moment adds to my danger. I must fly. How much money have you got?” The question explained everything. Mrs. Cox closed her lips with a snap and shook her head. “Don’t play the fool,” said her husband, wildly; “my neck’s in danger.” “I haven’t got anything,” asseverated Mrs. Cox. “It’s no good looking like that, Henry, I can’t make money.” Mr. Cox’s reply was interrupted by a loud knock at the hall door, which he was pleased to associate with the police. It gave him a fine opportunity for melodrama, in the midst of which his wife, rightly guessing that Mrs. Berry had returned according to arrangement, went to the door to admit her. The visitor was only busy two minutes on the door-mat, but in that time Mrs. Cox was able in low whispers to apprise her of the state of affairs. “That’s my uncle all over,” said Mrs. Berry, fiercely; “that’s just the mean trick I should have expected of him. You leave ’em to me, my dear.” She followed her friend into the drawing-room, and having shaken hands with Mr. Cox, drew her handkerchief from her pocket and applied it to her eyes. “She’s told me all about it,” she said, nodding at Mrs. Cox, “and it’s worse than you think, much worse. It isn’t a broker’s man—it’s my poor uncle, Joseph Piper.” “Your _uncle_!” repeated Mr. Cox, reeling back; “the broker’s man your _uncle_?” Mrs. Berry sniffed. “It was a little joke on our part,” she admitted, sinking into a chair and holding her handkerchief to her face. “Poor uncle; but I dare say he’s happier where he is.” Mr. Cox wiped his brow, and then, leaning his elbow on the mantelpiece, stared at her in well-simulated amazement. “See what your joking has led to,” he said, at last. “I have got to be a wanderer over the face of the earth, all on account of your jokes.” “It was an accident,” murmured Mrs. Berry, “and nobody knows he was here, and I’m sure, poor dear, he hadn’t got much to live for.” “It’s very kind of you to look at it in that way, Susan, I’m sure,” said Mrs. Cox. “I was never one to make mischief,” said Mrs. Berry. “It’s no good crying over spilt milk. If uncle’s killed he’s killed, and there’s an end of it. But I don’t think it’s quite safe for Mr. Cox to stay here.” “Just what I say,” said that gentleman, eagerly; “but I’ve got no money.” “You get away,” said Mrs. Berry, with a warning glance at her friend, and nodding to emphasise her words; “leave us some address to write to, and we must try and scrape twenty or thirty pounds to send you.” “Thirty?” said Mr. Cox, hardly able to believe his ears. Mrs. Berry nodded. “You’ll have to make that do to go on with,” she said, pondering. “‘And as soon as yoa get it you had better get as far away as possible before poor uncle is discovered. Where are we to send the money?” Mr. Cox affected to consider.