"After him, after him,--there'll be mischief," shouted Blossom, and he rushed after Tarleton, followed by the six policemen. Tarleton's shouts of vengeance resounded through the house, and once more drew the servants, both men and women, to the landing-place at the head of the stairs. That figure attracted every eye--a man attired in a white coat, his face wild, his hair streaming behind him, a loaded pistol in one hand and a light in the other. "Ketch his coat-tails," shouted Blossom, and, followed by policemen and servant-maids, he rushed up the second stairway. He found Tarleton in the act of forcing the door on the _right_, which led into the room where Ninety-One was imprisoned. "It is locked! Damnation!" shouted Tarleton, roaring like a madman. "Will no one give me the key?" "I'll tell you what I'll give you," was the remark of Blossom. "I'll give you _one_ under yer ear, if you don't keep quiet,--" But his threat came too late. Tarleton stepped back and then plunged madly against the door. It yielded with a crash. Then, with Blossom and the crowd at his heels, he rushed into the room, brandishing the pistol, as the light which he held fell upon his convulsed features,-- "Where is the wretch?--show him to me! Where is the murderer of poor Evelyn?" Blossom involuntarily turned his eyes toward the bed. It was empty. Ninety-One was not there. His gaze traversed the room: a door, looking like the doorway of a closet, stood wide open opposite the bed. It required but a moment to ascertain that the door opened upon a stairway. "By ----!" shouted Blossom, "he's gone! His comrade has been concealed somewhere, and has cut him loose." "Gone!" echoed police-officers and servants. "Gone!" ejaculated Tarleton, and fell back into a chair, and his head sunk upon his breast. There he remained muttering and moaning, while the four apartments on the third floor were searched in every corner by Blossom and his gang. The search was vain. "He can't be got far," cried Blossom. "Some o' you go down into the yard, and I'll s'arch this staircase." Thus speaking, he took the light and disappeared through the open doorway of the staircase, while the other police-officers hastily descended the main stairway. Tarleton remained at least five minutes in the darkness, while shouts were heard in the yard behind the mansion. Then, emerging from the room, he descended to the second floor, where he was confronted by the housekeeper, who was struck with pity at the sight of his haggard face. "I am weak--I am faint; allow me to lean upon your arm," said Tarleton, and supported his weight upon the fat arm of the good lady.--"Support me to the bedchamber of my dear friend Somers,--the father of poor murdered Evelyn." "This way, sir," said the housekeeper, kindly, "he's in there, with his private secretary--" "With his _private secretary_, did you say?" faintly exclaimed Tarleton. "Close the door after me, good madam, I wish to talk with the dear old man."