"Why--half the silly folks in this neighbourhood are afeerd to come here even in the daytime, because they say it's haunted," observed Bill, after a brief pause. "But, for my part, I shouldn't be frightened to come here at all hours of the night, and sit here alone too, even if every feller as was scragged at Tyburn or Newgate, and every one wot has been tumbled down these holes into the Fleet, was to start up, and----" The man stopped short, turned ghastly pale, and fell back stupified and speechless in his chair. His pipe dropped from between his fingers, and broke to pieces upon the floor. "What the devil's the matter now?" demanded his companion, casting an anxious glance around. "There! there! don't you see----," gasped the terrified ruffian, pointing towards the little window looking into the next room. "It's only some d----d gammon of Crankey Jem," ejaculated Dick, who was more courageous in such matters than his companion. "I'll deuced soon put that to rights!" Seizing the candle, he was hurrying towards the door, when his comrade rushed after him, crying, "No--I won't be left in the dark! I can't bear it! Damme, if you go, I'll go with you!" The two villains accordingly proceeded together into the next room. CHAPTER III. THE TRAP-DOOR. The youthful stranger had listened with ineffable surprise and horror to the conversation of the two ruffians. His nerves had been worked up by all the circumstances of the evening to a tone bordering upon madness--to that pitch, indeed, when it appeared as if there were no alternative left save to fall upon the floor and yield to the _delirium tremens_ of violent emotions. He had restrained his feelings while he heard the burglary at Mr. Markham's dwelling coolly planned and settled; but when the discourse of those two monsters in human shape developed to his imagination all the horrors of the fearful place in which he had sought an asylum,--when he heard that he was actually standing upon the very verge of that staircase down which innumerable victims had been hurled to the depths of the slimy ditch beneath,--and when he thought how probable it was that his bones were doomed to whiten in the dark and hidden caverns below, along with the remains of other human beings who had been barbarously murdered in cold blood,--reason appeared to forsake him. A cold sweat broke forth all over him; and he seemed about to faint under the impression of a hideous nightmare. He threw his hat upon the floor--for he felt the want of air. That proud forehead, that beautiful countenance were distorted with indescribable horror; and an ashy pallor spread itself over his features. Death, in all its most hideous forms, appeared to follow--to surround--to hem him in. There was no escape:--a trap-door here--a well, communicating with the ditch, there--or else the dagger;--no matter in what shape--still Death was before him--behind him--above him--below him--on every side of him. It was horrible--most horrible!