Lady Peggy, with such a pull-string of terror at her heart as she never had before, draws closer to the wall of the tenement before which she has halted, creeps nearer to the portal wherein these cavaliers are quartered. “Let it be five guineas apiece to-night,” squeaks the Baronet, “and the remainder when the business is done?” “The devil knock you into hell with your, ‘when the business is done!’” mutters the other. “We’s doin’ your job for you for little enough. Tain’t everyone as’d h’undertake the funeral of a h’Earl’s heir like Sir Percy de Bohun——” Her Ladyship’s like now to fall in a swoon; but not she; only leans she a bit against the bricks, her bosom heaving, her eyes dilating, her lips bitten in until they are almost bleeding. “Hush-h-h! no names, you varlets!” interrupts Sir Robin. “Hey?” responds the other, “the walls ain’t got no h’ears, and if they ’ad wot I’m a-sayin’s the cussid truth, eh, Bloksey?” Bloksey grunts. “The town’ll be afire when it’s out that a gallant like ’im that’s heir to Lord Gower’s been done fer; and then, my fine gentleman, who’s to pay for’t, if we’s caught and if we ’appens to be seen by any one when we’re a doin’ of your job? No, money all down now, or Sir Percy lives as long as ’e likes, for us!” Peg’s hand’s upon the hilt of her sword. Shall she spring and run Sir Robin through? Shall she hide and buy the rascals out at a higher price than he has paid? But no sooner do these thoughts rush through her brain than the utter impossibility of compassing the one, or of performing the other, undetected, if even with her life, and she so at the mercy of these cut-throats, comes to steady her, and she realizes that her only part is to get away as fast as she may, and unseen if she can. Meantime Sir Robin concludes his bargain with the two desperadoes, and as they withdraw into their haunt, and he turns on his heel, he espies Lady Peggy rounding the corner with her bundle under her arm. The little Baronet with a sidelong glance in at the hallway to make sure his men are out of sight, darts to the opposite side of the court on tiptoe, and then, putting hands to mouth, calls across softly, but clearly, in a tone half of joy, half anger. “Mr. Incognito! Mr. Incognito! Ho! I say, Incognito!” Peg stops short. ’Twere wiser perhaps to try to discover what had put Sir Robin McTart up to the murder. “By Gad, Sir!” cries this one, making a dash now over to Peg’s side of the way. “Here have I scoured the town for you day and night, and no trace of you anywhere! ‘Incognito’ me no more, Sir! Who are you, Sir? Damme! I’ll stand no more such nonsense!” Sir Robin’s valor’s thoroughly based on the knowledge that, were blade to be unsheathed to his hurt, he could and would shout for his hirelings to the rescue. ’Twas the first and only time in his life that he was ever known to urge, or even hint, a quarrel _in propria persona_.