"What do you say?" asked one of the policemen. Ninety-One relapsed into a dogged silence. They could not force another word from him. Carrying him back into the first room, they laid him on the bed, and secured his ankles and wrists with additional cords. Meanwhile, they could peruse at their leisure, that face, whose deep jaw, solid chin, and massive throat, covered with a stiff beard, manifested at once, immense muscular power, and an indomitable will. The eyes of the convict, overhung by his bushy brows, the cheeks disfigured by a hideous scar, the square forehead, with the protuberance in the center, appearing amid masses of gray hair,--all these details, were observed by the spectators, as they added new cords to the ankles and the wrists of Ninety-One. His chest shook with a burst of laughter, "Don't give it up so easy!" he cried, "I'll be even with you yet, Thirty-One." "S'arch all the apartments,--we must find his comrade," exclaimed Blossom,--"a pale-faced young devil, whom I seen with him, last night, in the cars." Ninety-One started, even as he lay pinioned upon the bed.--"Oh, Thirty-One," he groaned, "and you must bring the boy in it, too, must you? Just add another figure to our account." The four rooms were thoroughly searched, but the comrade was not found. "Come, boys," said Blossom, "we'll go down-stairs and talk this matter over. Gallus," directing his conversation to Ninety-One, "we'll see you again, presently." Ninety-One saw them cross the threshold, and heard the key turn in the lock. He was alone in the darkness, and with the dead. As Blossom, followed by the policemen, passed down stairs, he was confronted on the second landing by the affrighted servants,--some of them but thinly clad,--who assailed him with questions. Instead of answering these multiplied queries, Blossom addressed his conversation to a portly dame of some forty years, who appeared in her night-dress and with an enormous night-cap. "The housekeeper, I believe, Ma'am?" "Yes, sir,--Mrs. Tompkins," replied the dame, "Oh, do tell me, what does this all mean?" "How's the old gentleman?" asked Blossom. "In his room. He's reviving. Mr. Van Huyden, his private secretary is with him. But do tell us the truth of this affair--what--what, does it all mean?" "Madam, it means murder and blood and an old convict. Excuse me, I must go--down-stairs." While the house rang with the exclamations of his affrighted listeners, Blossom passed down stairs, and, with his assistants, entered the Library. "The question afore the house, gentlemen, is as follows,"--and Blossom sank into the chair of the merchant prince--"Shill we keep the prisoner up-stairs all night, or shill we take him to the Tombs?" Various opinions were given by the policemen, and the debate assumed quite an animated form, Blossom, in all the dignity of his bear-skin coat and carbuncled visage, presiding as moderator.