George paced. The hideous nightmares of the morning had returned now--snorting, neighing, trampling iron-shod; stampeding in hideous irresistible rushes. This was the beginning of the end. He was discovered--his' secret out. Flight--immediate flight--that was the essential course. Par-par, thanks to sweet heaven, was at a chapel meeting. The thing could be done. A timetable upon the mantelpiece told him that a down-train left the station at 8.35. It was now eight. Better a down-train than an up. The further from London the less chance of this infernal _Daily_ with its Country House Outrage. Examining the time-table he determined upon Temple Colney--an hour's run. He had been there once with Bill. But what of this infernal red-headed Pinner boy? In agony wrestling with the question, George every way ran into the brick wall fact that there was no method of stopping the vile boy's mouth. The red head must be left behind to shriek its discovery to par-par. All that could be done was to delay that shriek as long as possible. George packed his small hand-bag; placed upon the table money to pay his bill; lifted the crime-stained basket; addressed the red-headed Pinner boy: “Stop that sniffling. Take that bag. You are to come with me. If you make a sound or try to run away you know what will happen to you. What did I tell you would happen?” “Cut me 'ead off.” “Right off. Right off--_slish_! Give me your hand; come on.” Through a side door, avoiding the bar, they passed into the street. Kind night gave them cloaks of invisibility; no one was about. In a few minutes they had left the bold village street, were in timid lanes that turned and twisted hurrying through the high hedges. Half a mile upon the further side of the station George that morning had passed a line of haystacks. Now he made for it, skirting the railway by a considerable distance. The red-headed Pinner boy, exhausted by the pace of their walk, not unnaturally nervous, spoke for the first time: “Ain't you going to the station, mister?” “Station? Certainly not. Do you think I am running away?” The red-headed Pinner boy did not answer. This boy was recalling in every detail the gruesome story, read in a paper, of a bright young lad who had been foully done to death in a wood. George continued: “I shall be back with you at the inn this evening, and I shall ask your father to give you a good thrashing for hiding in my room.” In an earnest prayer the red-headed Pinner boy besought God that he might indeed be spared to receive that thrashing. III. They reached the haystack. George struck a match; looked at his watch. In seven minutes the train was due. The ladder George had noticed that morning was lying along the foot of a stack. Uprearing it against one partially demolished, “Put down that bag,” he commanded. “Up with you!”