Would poor Priddell mind if he did not knock again? If it were the Snake it could do Priddell no harm now—he being happily dead—whereas, if disturbed, it might emerge to the utter undoing—mind, body, and soul—of Trooper Matthewson. It would certainly send him to Jail or Lunatic Asylum—probably to both in due succession, for he was daily getting worse in the matter of the Snake. No—it was part of his orders, on this sentry-post, to knock at the door, and he would do his duty, Snake or not. He had always tried to do his duty faithfully and he would continue…. Once more to knock at a dead man’s door…. _Bump, Bump: Bump, Bump: Bump, Bump_. “You’ll soon be at rest, Priddell, old chap—and I wish I could join you,” called Dam, and it seemed to his excited brain that _a deep hollow groan replied_. “By Jove! He’s not dead,” coolly remarked the man who would have fled shrieking from a harmless blind-worm, and, going round to the back of the building, he placed his carbine against the wall and sprang up at a kind of window-ledge that formed the base of a grated aperture made for purposes of ventilation. Slowly raising his body till his face was above the ledge, he peered into the dimly moonlit cell and then dropped to the ground and, catching up his carbine, sprinted in the direction of the Hospital Guard-room. There arrived, he shouted for the Corporal of the Guard and was quickly confronted by Corporal Prag. “Wot the devil you deserted yore”…. he began. “Get the key of the mortuary, send for the Surgeon, and come at once,” gasped Dam as soon as he could speak. “_Priddell’s not dead_. Must be some kind of catalepsy. Quick, man”…. “Catter wot? You drunken ’og,” drawled the Corporal. “Catter_waulin’_ more like it. Under arrest you goes, my lad. Now you _’ave_ done it. ’Ere, ’Awker, run down an’ call up the Sergeant o’ the Guard an’ tell ’im Maffewson’s left ’is post. ’E’ll ’ave to plant annuvver sentry. Maffewson goes ter clink.” “Yes—but send for the Surgeon and the key of the mortuary too,” begged Dam. “I give you fair warning that Priddell is alive and groaning and off the bier—” “Pity _you_ ain’t ‘off the beer’ too,” said the Corporal with a yawn. “Well—there are witnesses that I brought the report to you. If Priddell is found dead on the ground to-morrow you’ll have to answer for manslaughter.” “’Ere, _chuck_ it you snaike-seeing delirying trimmer, _will_ yer! Give anyone the ’orrers to listen to yer! When Priddell is wrote off as ‘Dead’ ’e _is_ dead, whether ’e likes it or no,” and he turned to give orders to the listening guard to arrest Trooper Matthewson. The Sergeant of the Guard arrived at the “double,” followed by Trooper Bear carrying a hurricane-lamp. “What’s the row?” panted the Sergeant. “Matthewson on the booze agin?” “I report that there is a living man in the mortuary, Sergeant,” replied Dam. “Priddell is not dead. I heard him groan, and I scrambled up to the grating and saw him lying on the ground by the door.”