Mr. Mortimer stepped forward and peered into the shadow. He was standing close above the manhole, and to the confusion of all his senses he saw the cover of the manhole lift itself up; saw the rim of it rise two, three inches, saw and heard it joggle back into its socket. "For God's sake go away!" breathed the woman. "Norrabit of it, ma'am. Something wrong here. Citizen's duty, anything wrong--" Here the cover lifted itself again. Mr. Mortimer deftly slipped three fingers under its rim, and reaching back with his other hand produced from his pocket the second of Sam's two matches. "Below there!" he hailed sepulchrally, at the same moment striking the match on the tense seat of his trousers and holding it to the aperture. "Nero is an angler in the lake of darkness . . . Eh? . . . Good Lord!"-- he drew back and dropped the match--"it's a clergyman!" He clapped down the cover in haste, sprang to his feet, and lifting his hat, made her the discreetest of bows. He was sober, now, as a judge. "A thousand pardons, madam! I have seen nothing--believe me, nothing." He strode in haste to Old Jubilee's headstall and began to back him towards the boat. The woman gazed at him for a moment in mere astonishment, then stepped quickly to his side. "I didn' know," she stammered. "You don't look nor talk like a bargee." Here her voice came to a halt, but in the dusk her eyes appeared to question him. "Few of us are what we seem, ma'am," Mr. Mortimer sighed. "Bargee for the nonce I am, yet gentleman enough to understand a delicate situation. Your secret is safe with me, and so you may tell your--your friend." "Then you must a-seen them?" she demanded. "Them?" echoed Mr. Mortimer. "No," she went on hurriedly, mistaking his hesitation. "They made you promise, an' I don't _want_ to know. If I knew, he'd force it out o' me, an' then he 'd cut my heart out." She glanced over her shoulder, and Mr. Mortimer, interpreting the glance, nodded in the direction of the manhole. "Meanin' his Reverence?" he asked. "His name's Glasson. The Orph'nage belongs to him. It's a serious thing for him to lose one o' the children, and he's like a madman about it ever since . . ." She broke off and put out a hand to help him with the haulage tackle. "Where are you taking her?" "Her? The boat? Oh, back to Hucks's--Christopher Hucks, Anchor Wharf, Canal End Basin. 'Anchor,' you'll observe,--supposed emblem of Hope." He laughed bitterly. "Yes, yes," she nodded. "And quick--quick as ever you can! Here, let me help--" She caught at one of the two crowbars that served for mooring-posts and tugged at it, using all her strength. "He'll be coming around here," she panted, and paused for a moment to listen. "If he catches me talkin', God knows what'll happen!" She tugged again.