The Shady ’un got up, and shook himself, with an air of resolution. “It’s a lucky fing I came acrost yer so ’andy,” he said. “You’d ’ave got nabbed in no time. The Shady ’un’s yer pal; stick to ’im—an’ all will be well.” In his desperate extremity, Philip made up his mind to trust the man. By strange courts and alleys, and by unfrequented thoroughfares, they came at last to a wretched lodging, in the neighbourhood of the Borough—a lodging which appeared to be the private retreat of the Shady ’un in his hours of leisure. There, Philip Chater, utterly worn out, was glad to fling himself on a wretched bed, and fall asleep instantly. For some minutes after he had begun to slumber, the other man stood looking down upon him, with an evil smile crossing his face; he even shook his fist at him once—bringing it so near to the sleeper’s head, that it was a matter for wonder that he did not actually hit him. “This is a good chance fer me—this ’ere,” whispered the Shady ’un to himself. “Nice chap you are—to give yerself airs, an’ git yer pals to bang me about—ain’t yer? This little bit of business may stand me in all right, if I gets into trouble on me own. Yes—Dandy—I’ll make sure of you, right away!” The Shady ’un—after assuring himself that Philip was sleeping heavily—left the place, and bent his steps in a direction they would not willingly have taken on any other occasion—to a police-station. Within a very little time, messages had flashed to and fro upon the wires; questions had been asked and answered; and a silent and taciturn sergeant, accompanied by a couple of constables, went back with the Shady ’un to his lodging. Philip, waking from an uneasy sleep, saw the grim faces—the blue coats—the helmets of the Law; and knew that the game was up. The Shady ’un—after being quite sure that he was secured—drew near. “These gents know me—an’ they knows as ’ow I’ve ’ad my little bit of trouble afore to-day. But my ’ands—look at ’em, gents, I beg of yer—my ’ands is free from blood—an’ sich-like wickedness. Gents—if ever the time should come w’en, for dooty’s sake, you should ’ave to be ’ard on me—you’ll remember this in my favour—won’t yer?” “Oh yes—we’ll remember it,” responded the taciturn sergeant. “Come, Mr. Dandy Chater—we are quite ready.” Late that night, Bamberton was stirred to its depths again, by the news that Mr. Dandy Chater was in close custody in the lock-up, with a special draft of constables to keep watch over him. CHAPTER XVI WHO KILLED THIS WOMAN?