“Look at ’im, Miss,” she exclaimed, extending a hand towards the Captain, who had got on to his legs, and was swaggering about the little parlour—“did you ever see sich a figger in all yer born days? Do yer think I’d ever ’ave led _that_ to the altar—if I’d knowed wot ’e was a comin’ to in ’is old days? Begin at the top”—she indicated the Captain’s hat—“an’ ’e’s fit fer ’Igh Park, or a drorin’-room; come to ’is middle”—the indignant woman indicated the Captain’s seafaring blue coat—“an’ ’e’s a decent man an’ a sailor; look at ’is legs (if so be as you’ll excuse sich a remark, Miss)—an’ ’e might be a coachman out o’ work, or the bottom ’arf of a French Markiss. ’Im in a circus; w’y ’e don’t know no more about ’osses than a bluebottle!” “’Old ’ard, my dear—’old ’ard,” remonstrated the Captain, surveying his boots with a very proper pride—“I’m merely a livin’ up to me character; w’y, a get-up like this ’ere ’ll even make the ’osses ’ave a proper respect for me.” Then, observing suddenly that Clara stood, with clasped hands, looking from him to his wife appealingly, and with tears in her eyes, he checked himself, and came slowly towards her. “Why, my lass,” he said, in a tone of sympathy—“wot’s wrong with yer? You look as if you’d ’ad a fright of some kind—don’t she, Missis?” “I want your help,” said Clara, glancing behind her towards the door. “My friend—the unfortunate man of whom I spoke—Mr. Chater——” The Captain immediately began to back away, in some perturbation. Mrs. Quist, on the other hand, readily divining that something was wrong, nodded to Clara quickly to continue what she had to say. “Mr. Chater has—has escaped—and is here at this moment.” Mrs. Quist darted after Clara into the little passage; the Captain, scarcely knowing what he did, took off his hat, and held it pointed towards the door, as though it were a weapon, and he might defend himself with it. When, a moment later, Mrs. Quist and the girl came in, and the Captain, looking past them, saw Philip Chater enter the room, he immediately dived down behind the table on his knees, keeping only his eyes above the level of it. “Take ’im away! Don’t let ’im come near me,” he begged, in a hoarse and trembling whisper. Then, addressing Philip in a conciliatory tone, he added—“I never done nothink to you, ole pal, w’en you was in the flesh—an’ all I asks is that you’ll go back w’ere you come from—w’erever it is—an’ sleep sound. I ain’t done nothink to deserve spooks. Go back, my lad—go back!” Philip, despite his own danger, burst into a roar of laughter. “There’s nothing of the ghost about me, Quist,” he said. “I think I can understand what you mean—and presently I’ll explain everything. But, for the moment, I am in desperate peril; I’ve broken out of the jail here, and may be searched for at any moment. I want you to hide me.”