ery direction--
before, on either hand, and behind. Hurrying blindly on for a few
paces, he almost ran into the arms of a man whom he could hear, though
he could not see him, and stopped.

"Hallo! is that you, Bill Smith?" demanded the man.

"Ay, that's me," replied Tom, promptly, mimicking Bill Smith's voice and
gasping violently. "I thought you were Brixton. He's just passed this
way. I saw him."

"Did you?--where?"

"Away there--to the left!"

Off went the pursuer as fast as he dared, and Tom continued his flight
with more caution.

"Hallo! hi! hooroo!" came at that moment from a long distance to the
right, in unmistakable tones. "Here he is, down this way. Stop, you
big thief! Howld him. Dick! Have ye got him?"

There was a general rush and scramble towards the owner of the bass
voice, and Tom, who at once perceived the ruse, went quietly off in the
opposite direction.

Of course, the hunt came to an end in a very few minutes. Every one,
having more or less damaged his head, knees, elbows, and shins, came to
the natural conclusion that a chase in the dark was absurd as well as
hopeless, and in a short time all were reassembled round the fire, where
Fred Westly still stood, for he had not joined in the pursuit. Gashford
was the last to come up, with the exception of Paddy Flinders.

The bully came forward, fuming with rage, and strode up to Fred Westly
with a threatening look.

"You were at the bottom of this!" he cried, doubling his huge fist. "It
was you who cut the rope, for no mortal man could have untied it!"

"Indeed I did not!" replied Fred, with a steady but not defiant look.

"Then it must have bin your little chum Flinders. Where is he?"

"How could Flinders ha' done it when he was tellin' a ghost story?" said
Crossby.

Gashford turned with a furious look to the speaker, and seemed on the
point of venting his ill-humour upon him, when he was arrested by the
sound of the Irishman's voice shouting in the distance.

As he drew nearer the words became intelligible. "Howld him tight, now!
d'ye hear? Och! whereiver have ye gone an' lost yersilf? Howld him
tight till I come an' help ye! What! is it let him go ye have? Ah then
it's wishin' I had the eyes of a cat this night for I can't rightly see
the length of my nose. Sure ye've niver gone an' let him go? Don't say
so, now!" wound up Paddy as, issuing from the wood, he advanced into the
circle of light.

"Who's got hold of