She had the necklace dangling from her hand, and in bending down it was brought within reach of Waterloo. He snatched at it at once and growled like a dog over a bone. "Yuss," he said hoarsely, while the girl remained paralysed by his sudden move; "he's after this, and me. He's goin' to kill me, becas I set the peelers on to the Gang. But he'll not come by this passage, and I'll slip away. Don't you give the alarm, miss, or I'll cut your throat." "The same as you did Mr. Alpenny's?" "Ho! you knows that, does you?" yelped Waterloo. "Yuss, I did; an' I'll kill you if----" Beatrice ran to the door and opened it. "Help! help!" she cried, not thinking of the mad thing she was doing to provoke this murderer to wrath. There was no help near--The Camp was completely isolated, and unless Durban came back at once, or Vivian returned, she was at the mercy of this wild beast in the lonely place. Waterloo apparently guessed that he could do what he liked, for he made a spring to get out of the passage. As he did so he was pulled back, and gave a yell of alarm. "Oh lor', who's got me? 'Elp! 'elp! Ah! ow--ow--it's the Major--it's----" Here he was pulled out of sight. Apparently the Major, on the track of the man who had betrayed him, had entered the secret passage also, and was pulling the traitor down into the depths. Beatrice stared at the gaping black hole, and heard sounds of snarling and worrying and swearing and fighting going on in the bowels of the earth. Suddenly she heard the shriek of a man in mortal agony. With an effort she opened wide the counting-house door, anxious only to escape from the horrible place; but as the sunshine streamed on her face, everything seemed to grow black round her, and she fell down in a dead faint. CHAPTER XXVI WHAT TOOK PLACE It was quite two months before Beatrice Hall recovered sufficiently to hear after-events. For a long time she remained unconscious, and then came to herself only to suffer from a severe attack of brain fever. The poor girl had gone through so much--she had borne up with such bravery--that the long-continued strain had sapped her strength, and she was seriously ill for weeks. Even when she recovered her reason--which she did, owing to the careful and assiduous nursing of Vivian and his sister--the doctor would not allow her to be told anything. And, indeed, Beatrice did not seem anxious to hear: it appeared as though her mind was a blank. All she cared to do was to lie on her bed, and listen to Vivian reading some soothing book.