“You idiot!” he whispered, hoarsely—“a pretty thing you’ve done now. I might have stood and braved the thing out; there’s no proof against me—and suspicions are useless. But now, after this, there’s nothing for it but to make a bolt of it!—I suppose it’s my own fault, for having anything to do with a drunken little worm like yourself. Quick!—there’s no time to be lost; we must clear out of this. Come!” Going to the door, he listened cautiously for a few moments, and then swiftly opened it. There was no one in sight, and he darted across the hall, and caught up his own and the Doctor’s hats and coats, and went back noiselessly. Tokely still lay without movement; and Ogledon dragged Cripps into his coat, and crammed his shabby hat on his head; put on his own outdoor things, and prepared to leave the place. “Now, attend to me,” he said to Cripps. “I shall lock this door on the inside, and take the key with me; we’ll go through this window on to the terrace. If this fellow ever wakes again—of which I am extremely doubtful—it won’t be for an hour or so; and that will give us a fair start. Now—come quietly. This has been a devilish unlucky night, and it promises to be an unlucky day. I thought myself so safe; I don’t like the turn things have taken at all.” Strolling quietly, until they were out of sight of the windows of the house, the two got clear away—Ogledon keeping a tight grip of the arm of his swaying companion. Indeed, it is possible that, before many hours had elapsed, the little man deeply regretted the part he had played in the recent adventure; for Ogledon walked him on, without mercy, mile after mile, and without paying the slightest attention to his many piteous entreaties to be allowed to pause at seductive-looking public-houses, for rest and refreshment. Later in the day, they came to a small station, within easy distance of London; and—dusty, weary, foot-sore, and ill-tempered, Cripps was glad to get into the corner of a third-class railway-carriage, and fall asleep. Arrived at the terminus, Ogledon coolly announced to his companion that they must part. “I shall drive across London—get some dinner—and catch the night express for the Continent. You will not, in all probability, hear from me for some time. Good-bye!” “But what—what is to become of me?” asked the little man, in dismay. “I’m sure I don’t know—and I’m equally sure I don’t care,” responded Ogledon. “You’ve got yourself and me into this trouble; I’m going to get out of it—you had better do the same.” “But I’ve no money,” said Cripps, appealingly. “Ah—you should have thought of that before knocking policemen on the head with decanters. If you will be so giddy and youthful and frolicsome, you must take the consequences. Good-bye again; I hope they won’t catch you!” He turned and made his way out of the station; Cripps saw him jump into a cab, and disappear in the press of traffic in the streets.