nk of that?"

Girdlestone wrung his hand and congratulated him warmly. "Shall I light
the lantern?" he asked.

"For God's sake, don't!" Ezra said earnestly.

"I had no idea that you were so faint-hearted, my son," the merchant
remarked. "However, I know the way to the gate well enough to go there
blindfold. What a comfort it is to know that there is no blood about!
That's the advantage of a stick over a knife."

"You're correct there, guv'nor," Burt said approvingly.

"Will you kindly carry one end and I'll take the other. I'll go first,
if you don't mind, because I know the way best. The train will pass in
less than half an hour, so we have not long to wait. Within that time
every chance of detection will have gone."

Girdlestone raised up the head of the murdered girl, and Burt took her
feet. Ezra walked behind as though he were in some dreadful dream.
He had fully recognized the necessity for the murder, but he had never
before realized how ghastly the details would be. Already he had begun
to repent that he had ever acquiesced in it. Then came thoughts of the
splendid possibilities of the African business, which could only be
saved from destruction by this woman's death. How could he, with his
luxurious tastes, bear the squalor and poverty which would be his lot
were the firm to fail? Better a rope and a long drop than such a life
as that! All these considerations thronged into his mind as he plodded
along the slippery footpath which led through the forest to the wooden
gate.

CHAPTER XLV.

THE INVASION OF HAMPSHIRE.

When Tom and the major arrived at Waterloo Station, the latter in the
breathless condition described in a preceding chapter, they found the
German waiting for them with his two fellow-exiles. The gentleman of
Nihilistic proclivities was somewhat tall and thin, with a long
frock-coat buttoned almost up to his throat, which showed signs of
giving at the seams every here and there. His grizzly hair fell over
his collar behind, and he had a short bristling beard. He stood with
one hand stuck into the front of his coat and the other upon his hip, as
though rehearsing the position in which his statue might be some day
erected in the streets of his native Russia, when the people had their
own, and despotism was no more. In spite of his worn attire there was
something noble and striking about the man. His bow, when Baumser
introduced him to the major and Tom, would have graced