"Och, murther!" she ejaculated, as she beheld the red face of Blossom, and the frightened visage of her master. Blossom seized her arm with a tight grip. "Look here, Biddy, do you know how to sleep?" was the inquiry of the rubicund gentleman. "Slape?" echoed the girl, with eyes like saucers. "'Cause if you don't go back into the kitchen, and put yourself into a sound sleep d'rectly; yourself, your master and me, will all be murdered in our beds. It 'ud hurt my feelin's, Biddy, to see you with your throat cut, and sich a nice fat throat as it is!" Biddy uttered a groan, and shrunk back behind the stairway. "Now then!" and Blossom led the way up-stairs, followed by the lean, angular form of the merchant prince, who turned his head over his shoulder, like a man afraid of ghosts. They arrived at the small entry at the head of the stairs, on the third floor; three doors opened into the entry; one on the right, one on the left, and the third directly in the background, facing the head of the stairs. "Hush!" whispered Blossom, "do you hear any noise?" Advancing on tip-toe, he crouched against the door on the right, and listened. In an instant he came back to the head of the stairs, where stood Mr. Somers, shaking in every nerve. "It's a snore," said Blossom, "jist go and listen, and see if it's your son's snore." It required much persuasion to induce the merchant prince to take the step. "Where are your men?" Blossom pointed over the merchant's shoulder, to the landing beneath. There, in the gloom, stood the six figures, shoulder to shoulder, and as motionless as stone. "Now will you go?" Mr. Somers advanced, and placed his head against the door on the right. After a brief pause, he returned to the head of the stairs where Blossom stood. "It is not my son's _snore_," he said, "that is, if I am any judge of _snores_." Blossom took the light and the keys, and advanced to the door on the right, which he gently tried to open, but found it locked. Making a gesture of caution to the merchant prince, he selected the key of the door from the bunch, softly inserted it, and as softly turned it in the lock. The door opened with a sound. Then stepping on tip-toe, he crossed the threshold, taking the light with him. Mr. Somers, left alone in the dark, felt his heart march to his throat. "I shall be murdered,--I know I shall," he muttered, when the light shone on his frightened face again. Blossom stood in the doorway, beckoning to him. Somers advanced and crossed the threshold. "Look there," whispered Blossom "now d'ye believe me?" A huge man, dressed in the jacket and trowsers of a convict, was sleeping on the bed, his head thrown back, his mouth wide open, and one arm hanging over the bedside. His chest heaved with long, deep respirations, and his nostrils emitted a snore of frightful depth. At this confirmation of the truth of Blossom's statement, Mr. Somers' face became as white as his cravat.