"There are several other schemes with the cards," answered Chichester, "but I think that I have taught you enough for this evening. One famous device, however, must not be forgotten. You have heard of the way in which Lord de Roos lately attempted to cheat his noble companions at the club? The plan practised by him is called _sauter la coupe_, and enables the dealer to do what he chooses with one particular card, which of course he has selected for this purpose. Now look how it is done; for I can better show practically than explain verbally." [Illustration] Scarcely was this portion of the lesson accomplished, when steps were heard ascending the stairs; and immediately afterwards a heavy fist knocked with more violence than courtesy at the parlour door. The baronet and Chichester both turned pale. "They can't have found us out here?" murmured the one to the other in a hoarse and tremulous tone. "What shall we do?" "We must open--happen what will." Chichester unlocked the door: two ill-looking men entered the room. "Mr. Arthur Chichester?" said one. "He isn't here--we don't know him. My name is Davis--ask the landlady if it is not," cried Chichester hurriedly, and in a manner which only served to convince the officer that he was right. "Come--come, none of that there gammon," said the bailiff. "I knows you well enough: my name's Garnell; and I'll stand the risk of your being Chichester. Here's execution out against you for four hundred and forty-seven pounds. I don't suppose that you can pay--so you'd better come off at once." "Where to?" demanded Chichester, seeing that it was no use disputing his own identity any longer. "Where to!" cried the officer; "why--to Whitecross, to be sure! Where the devil would you go to?" "Can I not be allowed to sleep in a sponging-house?" "No--this is an execution, and a large sum, mind. I don't dare do it." "Well, then--here goes for Whitecross Street!" said Chichester; and after exchanging a few words in a whisper with the baronet, he left the house with the sheriff's officers. CHAPTER XXXV. WHITECROSS-STREET PRISON. A cold drizzling rain was falling, as Chichester proceeded along the streets leading to the debtors' prison. The noise of pattens upon the pavement; the numbers of umbrellas that were up; the splashing of horses' feet and carriage-wheels in the kennels; the rush of cabs and the shouting of omnibus-cads, were all characteristic of a wet night in a crowded metropolis. Chichester shivered--more through nervousness than actual cold; and he felt an oppressive sensation at the bottom of his stomach, as well as at the chest. The officer endeavoured to console him, by observing that "it was lucky he had been taken so close to the prison on such a rainy night." The ruined young man envied many a poor wretch whom he passed on his way; for he knew that it was far easier to get into a debtors' gaol than to get out of it. At length they arrived at the prison.