"Yes! who the hell do you think it could be? But what have you done with the fresh 'un?" "The fresh 'un came alive again----" "Gammon! Where is the money? how much was there? and is his skull fractured?" demanded the Resurrection Man. "I tell you that he came to his senses," returned the old hag: "and that he sprung upon me like a tiger when I went into the back room after you was gone." "Damnation! what a fool I was not to stick three inches of cold steel into him!" ejaculated the Resurrection Man, stamping his foot. "So I suppose he got clear away--money and all?--gone, may be, to fetch the traps!" "Don't alarm yourself, Tony," said the old hag, with a horrible cackling laugh; "he's safe enough, I'll warrant it!" "Safe! where--where?" "Where his betters have been 'afore him," answered the Mummy. "What!--in the well in the yard?" exclaimed the Resurrection Man, in a state of horrible suspense. "No--in the hole under the stairs." "Wretch!--drivelling fool!--idiot that you are!" cried the Resurrection Man in a voice of thunder: "you decoyed him into the very place from which he was sure to escape!" "Escape!" exclaimed the Mummy, in a tone of profound alarm. "Yes--escape!" repeated the Resurrection Man. "Did I not tell you a month or more ago that the wall between the hole and the saw-pit in the empty house next door had given way!" "No--you never told me! I'll swear you never told me!" cried the old hag, now furious in her turn. "You only say so to throw all the blame on me: it's just like you." "Don't provoke me, mother!" said the Resurrection Man, grinding his teeth. "You know that I told you about the wall falling down; and you know that I spoke to you about not using the place any more!" "It's false!" exclaimed the Mummy. "It's true; for I said to you at the time that I must brick up the wall myself some night, before any new people take the carpenter's yard, or they might wonder what the devil we could want with a place under ground like that; and it would be the means of blowing us!" "It's a lie! you never told me a word about it," persisted the old harridan doggedly. "Perdition take you!" cried the man. "The affair of this cursed Markham will be the ruin of us both!" The Resurrection Man still had a hope left: the subterranean pit beneath the stairs was deep, and Markham might have been stunned by the fall. He hastened to the trap-door, and raised it. The vivid light of his candle was thrown to the very bottom of the pit by means of the bright reflector of tin. The hole was empty. Maddened by disappointment--a prey to the most terrible apprehensions--and uncertain whether to flee or remain in his den, the Resurrection Man paced the passage in a state of mind which would not have been envied by even a criminal on his way to execution. CHAPTER XLV. THE FRUITLESS SEARCH.