The police were growing impatient at the continued insolence of the fellow, and were about to lay hold on him once more, when Daly interposed, and said, in a still lower voice, “Have you anything to tell me?” “I 've a bit of paper for you somewhere, from one you know, if them blackguards the 'polis' has not made me lose it.” “Be quick, then,” said Daly, “and see after it.” For Darcy was chafed at a delay he could not see any reason for. “Here it is,” said the imp, taking a piece of dirty and crumpled paper from the lining of his hat; “there, you have it now safe and sure. Give my best respects to Alderman Darby,” added he to the police; “say I was too hurried to call;” and with that he dived between the legs of one of them, dashed through the line of soldiers, and was speedily concealed among the dense crowd outside, where shouts of approving laughter welcomed him. “A rendezvous or a challenge, Bagenal,--which?” said the Knight, laughing, as Daly stood endeavoring, by the light of a lamp in the corridor, to decipher the torn scrawl. The other made no reply, but, holding the paper close to his eyes, stood silent and motionless. At last an expression of impatient anger burst from him: “That imp of h--ll has almost effaced the words,--I cannot make them out!” Then he added, in a low muttering, “I trust in Heaven I have not read them aright. Come here, Darcy.” And, so saying, he grasped the Knight's hand, and led him along to one of the many small chambers used as offices of the House. “Ah! they're looking anxiously out for you, sir,” said a young man who stood with his back to the fire, reading a paper. “Mr. Ponsonby has just been here.” “Leave us together here for a few minutes,” said Daly, “and let there be no interruption.” And as he spoke, he motioned to the door with a gesture there was no mistaking. The clerk left the room, and they were alone. “Maurice Darcy,” said Daly, as he turned the key in the lock, “you have a stout heart and a courage I never saw fail, and you need both at this moment.” “What is it, Bagenal?” gasped the Knight, as a most deadly pallor covered his face. “Is my wife--are my children--” “No, no; be calm, Darcy, they are all well.” “Go on, then,” cried he, with a firmer voice; “I'll listen to you patiently.” “Read that,” said Daly, as he held the paper near the candle; and the Knight read aloud: “'Honored Sir,--I saw the other night you were troubled when I spoke of Gleeson, and I take the occasion of--'” “'warning you,' I think the words are,” broke in Daly. “So it is:--'warning you honest Tom is away to America!'” The paper fell from Darcy's hand, and he staggered back into a seat. “With they say above a hundred thousand pounds, Darcy,” continued Daly, taking up the fragment. “If the news be true--” “If so, I'm ruined; he received the whole loan on Saturday last,--he could not delay Hickman's payment beyond Wednesday without suspicion.”