“I have only a few shillings,” said Marsten, “but we must get more somehow. None of the men has any, or they would give it. Yesterday I could have gone to Sartwell; but to-day, unfortunately, I have quarrelled with him, bitterly and irretrievably, I fear. Although he said nothing to me, I can’t go to him. But there is Barnard Hope. Yes, he’s the man. He helped Braunt when there was trouble with the police. I don’t like to go to Barnard Hope--for certain reasons I don’t care to be indebted to him. Would you mind going? He lives in Chelsea.” “No. I will do anything I can. I have promised.” “Then I would go to-night if I were you. Tomorrow is his ‘At Home’ day, and there will be a lot of people there. It will be difficult to see him then, and we can’t wait until the day after. His address is Craigenputtoch House, Chelsea. If you fail, I will see his father, so one or other of us is sure to get the money.” “I will go at once,” said Langly. It was a long journey to Chelsea, and when the tired organist reached the place he found Barney had a theatre party on, with a dance to follow, and would not likely be home that night. It was uncertain when he would return in the morning, but he would be sure to be back at three o’clock, as his ‘At Home’ friends would begin to gather at that hour, so Barney’s servant said. The wearied man tramped back, and reached Rose Garden Court about midnight. He rapped at Braunt’s door, and, receiving no answer, pushed it open after a moment’s hesitation. He feared the headstrong, impatient man might, after all, have carried out his resolution, and left with his burden for the North, but he found nothing changed. Braunt sat there with his head in his hands, and gave him no greeting. “I am to have the money to-morrow,” Langly said, feeling sure it would not be refused. Braunt made no answer, and, taking one look at the silent figure on the bed, whose face seemed now like that of a little child, the young man departed as quietly as he had entered. Mrs. Scimmins met him on the stair. She wanted to know all about it. She said that the women of the court, when they heard of the death, had offered their help, but Braunt had acted like a brute, and had driven them away with fearful oaths. She was sure something was wrong. The coroner had been there, and thought so too. There was to be an inquest at the Vestry Hall in the morning. A summons had been left for Langly to attend and give his evidence. “But I’m going to Chelsea in the morning,” cried the young man, aghast. “I know nothing, except that Jessie has been ill.” “You saw her die, they say. Braunt admitted that. You will have to attend the inquest, or they will send a policeman after you.”