ded in the direction of the manhole.

"Meanin' his Reverence?" he asked.

"His name's Glasson. The Orph'nage belongs to him. It's a serious
thing for him to lose one o' the children, and he's like a madman about
it ever since . . ." She broke off and put out a hand to help him with
the haulage tackle. "Where are you taking her?"

"Her? The boat? Oh, back to Hucks's--Christopher Hucks, Anchor Wharf,
Canal End Basin. 'Anchor,' you'll observe,--supposed emblem of Hope."
He laughed bitterly.

"Yes, yes," she nodded. "And quick--quick as ever you can! Here, let
me help--" She caught at one of the two crowbars that served for
mooring-posts and tugged at it, using all her strength. "He'll be
coming around here," she panted, and paused for a moment to listen.
"If he catches me talkin', God knows what'll happen!" She tugged
again.

"Steady does it," said Mr. Mortimer; and having helped her to draw the
bar up, he laid it in the boat as noiselessly as he could and ran to the
second. "There's no one coming," he announced. "But see here, if
you're in fear of the man, let me have another go at the manhole.
He may be down there yet, and if so I'll give him the scare of his life.
Yes, ma'am, the scare of his life. You never saw my Hamlet, ma'am?
You never heard me hold parley with my father's ghost? Attend!"

Mr. Mortimer stepped to the manhole and struck thrice upon it with his
heel.

"Glasson!" he called, in a voice so hollow that it seemed to rumble down
through the bowels of earth. "Glasson, forbear!"

"For God's sake--" The woman dragged at his shoulder as he knelt.

"All is discovered, Glasson! Thy house is on fire, thy orphans are
flown. Rake not the cellarage for their bones, but see the newspapers.
Already, Glasson, the newsboys run about the streets. It spreads,
Glasson; may'st hear them call. Like wildfire it spreads. ''Orrible
discovery of 'uman remains! A clergyman suspected!'"

Here Mr. Mortimer, warm to his work, let out a laugh so blood-curdling
that Old Jubilee bolted the length of his rope.

"The boat!" gasped the woman.

"Eh?"

Mr. Mortimer turned and saw the boat glide by the bank like a shadow;
heard the thud of Old Jubilee's hoofs, and sprang in pursuit. The woman
ran with him.

But the freshest horse cannot bolt far with a 72-feet monkey-boat
dragging on his shoulders, and at the end of fifty yards, the towrope
holding, Old Jubilee dropped to a jog-trot. The woman caugh