The noise of a window being shut down fell upon the murderer's ears: and he heard no more. But he had heard enough! Those girls had spoken of him:--they had mentioned him as _the man who had murdered his wife_. The assassination, then, was already known: the dread deed was bruited abroad:--thousands and thousands of tongues had no doubt repeated the tale here and there--conveying it hither and thither--far and wide! And throughout the vast metropolis was he already spoken of as the _man who had murdered his wife_! And in a few hours more, would millions in all parts hear of _the man who had murdered his wife_! And already were the officers of justice actively in search of _the man who had murdered his wife_! Heavily--heavily passed the hours. At length the dungeon became pitch dark; and then the murderer saw sights more appalling than when the faint gleam stole through the grating. In due time the sonorous voice of Saint Sepulchre proclaimed the hour of nine. Scarcely had the last stroke of that iron tongue died upon the breeze, when a noise at the head of the spiral staircase fell upon the murderer's ears. The trap-door was raised, and the well-known voice of Dick Flairer was heard. "Well, Bill--alive or dead, eh--old fellow!" exclaimed the burglar. "Alive--and that's all, Dick," answered Bill Bolter, ascending the staircase. "My God! how pale you are, Bill," said Dick, the moment the light of the candle fell upon the countenance of the murderer as he emerged from the trap-door. "Pale, Dick!" ejaculated the wretch, a shudder passing over his entire frame; "I do not believe I can stand a night in that infernal hole." "You must, Bill--you must," said Flairer: "all is discovered up in Union Court there, and the police are about in all directions." "When was it found out? Tell me the particulars--speak!" said the murderer, with frenzied impatience. "Why, it appears that the neighbours heard a devil of a noise in your room, but didn't think nothink about it, cos you and Polly used to spar a bit now and then. But at last the boy--Harry, I mean--went down stairs and said that his mother wouldn't move, and that his father had gone away. So up the neighbours went--and then everything was blown. The children was sent to the workus, and the coroner held his inquest this afternoon at three. Harry was had up before him; and--" "And what?" demanded Bolter, hastily. "And, in course," added Dick, "the Coroner got out of the boy ull the particklars: so the jury returned a verdict----" "Of _Wilful Murder_, eh?" said Bill, sinking his voice almost to a whisper. "_Wilful Murder against William Bolter_," answered Dick, coolly. "That little vagabond Harry!" cried the criminal--his entire countenance distorted with rage; "I'll be the death on him!"