Philip Chater did not care to risk waiting to give any explanation to that company. In point of fact, he feared the honest Captain more than any man there; for he dreaded lest he should blurt out his knowledge of a certain Philip Crowdy, who was done with, and left behind in the past. Therefore, edging quickly near to the Captain, while he still kept his eyes on the other men, who had risen to their feet, he whispered quickly— “Make a bolt for it!” There hung from the ceiling, over the table, a single gas jet, with a naked light; Philip, with a quick movement, snatched the ragged hat from the head of the Shady ’un, who stood at his elbow, and dashed it straight at the light; the room was in darkness in a moment. He heard the men falling about, and stumbling over the chairs, as he darted through the doorway, and plunged down the stairs, with the Captain almost in his arms—for that gentleman had waited for him. The men were actually on the stairs, when the two fugitives darted through the bar, and into the street. Rightly guessing that no attempt would be made to pursue them in the open street, Philip and his companion, after doubling round one or two corners, came to a halt, and sat down on some steps outside a church, to review their position. “This comes of gettin’ into bad company, Phil,” said the Captain drearily, when he had recovered his breath. “A ’at—bought off a Jew gentleman, with nice manners, only last week; a brush and comb—the brush a bit bald, and the comb wantin’ a noo set of teeth; to say nothink of a night garment, ’emmed by the Missis, and marked with a anchor on the boosum—all lost at ‘The Three Watermen.’” “I’m very sorry,” replied Philip, “but I think we got off pretty cheaply as it was. But I don’t think we had better be seen in company; those fellows only saw you for a moment, and will scarcely be likely to recognise you, should you meet them.” “I don’t want to meet ’em,” said the Captain. “I saw that Shady chap in the bar, and thought ’e was on the lookout for me again—so I chivvied of ’im upstairs.” They parted for the time, after Philip Chater had impressed his address upon the Captain’s mind, with many injunctions to talk about him as little as possible. Philip, after walking for nearly an hour, found a quiet hotel, and gladly got to bed. At the last moment, before his eyes closed, he remembered the two packets which had been given him, together with the piece of paper the sandy-haired man had tossed to him, and which latter he had thrust into his pocket. He jumped out of bed, re-lit the gas, and took them from the pockets of his clothing. The first packet, when he broke it, he found contained bank-notes—for small and large amounts—to the total of three thousand five hundred pounds; the second packet held the same amount. Dropping these hastily, he caught up the scrap of paper, and hurriedly unfolded it.