The thief rose up out of the gulf of darkness like an apparition of terror. He dropped into a chair, his face gray, white and pinched, the sound of his rasping breaths, drawn with pain from the bottom of his lungs, filling the room. He was incapable of speech, and Essex, pouring him out whisky, was forced to take the glass from his shaking hand and hold it to his lips. From his soaked clothes and the cap that crowned his head, like a saturated woolen rag, water streamed. But the rain had not been able to efface from his coat a caking of mud that half-covered one arm and shoulder, and there was blood on one of his hands. He had evidently fallen. “Have you got it?” said Essex, putting the glass down. The other nodded and let his head sink on the chair-back. “I’m dead,” he gasped, “but I done it.” “Where is it? Give it to me.” The man made a faint movement of assent, but evidently had not force enough to produce the paper and lay limp in the chair, Essex watching him impatiently. Presently he put his feeble hand out for the glass and drank again. The rattling loudness of his breathing moderated. Without moving his head he turned his eyes on Essex and said: “I’m most killed--I’m all shook up. I fell coming down the tree, some way--I don’t know how far--but I got it all right. She fought like a wildcat, tried to burn it--but I got it. Then she hollered and a man answered. I knew it was a man’s voice, and I made a dash for the winder only jest in time. I’m cut somewheres--” He raised the hand with the blood on it and fumbled at his coat-sleeve. The other hand was smeared with blood from the contact. “Like a pig,” he said in a low voice, and pulled out a rag of handkerchief which he tried to push up his sleeve; “I’m cut somewheres all right, but I don’t know where.” “Give me the paper and take your things off. You’re dripping all over everything,” said Essex, extending his hand. Harney sat up. “I dunno how I done it,” he said; “how I got down. The man was right on my heels. When I fell I saw him, pullin’ her up on her feet--I saw that through the winder. Then I riz up and I went--God, how I went!” He had stuffed his handkerchief up his sleeve by this time, and now put his bloody tremulous hand into the outer breast-pocket of his coat. As the hand fumbled about the opening he said: “I didn’t stop to look no more nor take no risks. I wanted to git away from thar and I tell you I lit out, and--” He stopped, his jaw dropped, his nerveless figure stiffened, a look of animal terror came into his eyes. “Where is it?” he almost yelled, staring at Essex. “How the devil should I know! Where did you put it? Isn’t it there?” Essex himself had suddenly paled. He stood erect before the crouched and trembling figure of his partner, his eyes fiercely intense.