"And may he not be a criminal at the same time? Of many of our friends we are utterly unaware what lives they lead in secret. Charles Peace, the daring burglar, as you will probably remember, taught in a Sunday-school. Therefore, never judge a man by his outward profession, either of friendship or of piety." "But I heard the villains threaten him in that upstairs room," I exclaimed. "He was in peril of his life." "Because they had quarrelled--perhaps over the distribution of the spoils. Criminals more often than not quarrel over that, and in revenge give each other away to us. No, Mr Hughes, before you jump to any conclusion in this matter just wait a bit, wait, I mean, till we've concluded our inquiries. Depend upon it a very different complexion will soon be placed upon the whole affair." Edwards and Marvin returned half an hour after wards. "He made no statement," Edwards said. "He's one of 'em, that's certain." "Why?" I asked. "How are you so positive?" "Well, sir, we can generally pretty well tell, you know. He was a bit too resigned to be innocent." Through the whole night, until the cold grey of the wintry dawn, we sat in the back sitting-room, with one single bull's-eye lantern turned on, awaiting the arrival of any of the others who might make a midnight visit there. I, of course, knew the addresses of both Parham and Winsloe, and had given them to Pickering; but he preferred that night to wait, and if possible arrest them actually in that house of doom. Just as the faint dawn began to show through the chinks of the closed shutters, and Pickering was giving his men instructions before returning to the station, we distinctly heard another key rattle in the latch. We were all on the alert in an instant. "We'll let him go upstairs if that's his intention," whispered the inspector with satisfaction. Again the newcomer had the same difficulty with the latch, but at length the door opened, letting in a flood of grey light into the hall, and then closed again. We had drawn back behind the half-closed door of the room wherein we had kept our night vigil, and standing there scarcely daring to breathe, we watched a dark-haired young man in a brown tweed suit ascend the stairs. He wore a thick travelling coat, a flat cloth cap, and carried a well-worn brown handbag. Evidently he had just come off a night journey, for he sighed wearily as humming to himself he ascended those fatal stairs. Fortunately we had removed the settle back to its place, but on arrival on the first landing we heard him halt and pull a creaking lever somewhere--the mechanism by which the six stairs were held fast and secure. Then he went on up to the top and entered that well-furnished little sitting-room.