“I don’t mind that,” said Sorley eagerly; “only spare me the shame of being seen with them on by my fellow-creatures. Oh, dear me, and I am quite innocent,” he maundered on in a senile way, “quite innocent. When——” “Come,” said the inspector imperiously; “I don’t wish to use force.” “I should drum him out of the house with the Rogue’s March,” said Miss Grison laughing fiercely, “beast that you are!” Sorley did not reply, for he was already tottering towards the door between the two officers, and followed by the inspector. As he passed out of the room, he turned and looked significantly at Alan, “The black bag, don’t forget the black bag,” he said, and, as Moon touched him on the shoulder he went stumbling out of sight. Strange to say no one attached much meaning to his last words, and Alan himself was bewildered. “What the dickens does he mean?” “Something bad, you may be sure,” retorted Miss Grison malignantly. “I think Sorley is a better man than you admit him to be,” remarked the young man indignantly. “Dick, where are you going?” “I intend to follow Sorley and Moon,” answered Latimer, “come with me.” “No,” said Fuller with a glance at the landlady, “I wish to ask Miss Grison a few questions.” “They won’t be answered,” cried Miss Grison exultingly, “my enemy has been trapped, and there is nothing left for me to wish for.” Latimer was so annoyed at the malignity of the woman, that he turned at the door as her victim had done. “Let me remind you of an excellent proverb, Miss Grison,” he said quietly: “there’s many a slip t’wixt the cup and the lip!” and then he went out quietly. “There will be no slip except that of Sorley when he is hanged,” said the woman savagely. “Now, you can go, Mr. Fuller, I have no quarrel with you.” “There is one on my part, however,” said Alan, taking a seat; “you have disgraced Marie by this arrest of her uncle.” “Oh, indeed. And you say that because you love her. Is the course of justice to be stayed for the tears of a chit?” “Marie is not a chit,” retorted the lover angrily. “Yes she is; yes she is,” taunted Miss Grison in quite a schoolgirl manner. “I hate her, I hated her mother, who made me a slave to her whims. I hate Sorley, and have paid him out.” “Not yet.” “What do you mean with your ‘not yet,’” asked Miss Grison contemptuously. “I mean that he may prove his innocence at the trial.” “He can’t; everything is against him.” “So far I admit that. But some new evidence may turn up.” “I don’t care what turns up,” said Miss Grison vehemently; “the man is a guilty beast and must be punished. I hate him, oh, how I hate him!” Fuller was about to ask why, when the door opened slightly and the brown haughty face of Morad-Bakche peered in. “Pardon my intrusion,” he said in his best English, “but the whole house is in commotion about a reported arrest. How are you, Mr. Fuller.” He stepped into the room as he spoke.