y
Herald_.

As was his practice, Sir Tancred, on his way to bed, looked in on
Tinker, and found him sleeping the profound sleep of youth and
innocence. But no sooner did he hear his father in bed and still, than
he rose from that profound sleep of youth and innocence, dressed, even
to his great-coat. He took a letter from his pocket, and put it
prominently on the dressing-table. It ran:

DEAR FATHER:

I have taken Bloomenroot to Parris in Herr Shlugst flyingmacheen.
Bring him to meet me at the Ifell Tower.

Your affectionate son
TINKER.

Then, with his boots in his hand, he stole across to the financier's
room. Thanks to the brandy, the financier looked very much wound up.
Tinker bade him write on a sheet of notepaper, "Don't call me till
eleven," pinned it on the outside of his bedroom door, locked it, and
took the key. He left the sitting-room door unlocked. Then he opened
the window, and, followed by his protege, who was already shivering
with dread, he stepped out on to the balcony with the air of the leader
of an army. The balcony ran round the hotel, as a way of escape during
a fire; it was broad, and since the night was starry, but fairly dark,
they were little likely to be seen from below by the detectives
watching the hotel doors. They walked round to the back, came through
a window into a bathroom, through the bathroom on to the servants'
staircase, and went right down into the basement.

"I get up early in the morning before the servants, and I had to find a
way out," said Tinker in an explanatory whisper.

He led the way through the kitchen into a long passage, set with the
doors of cellars on either side. At the end of the passage was a short
ladder with rounded iron rungs, by which barrels were lowered, and
Tinker, mounting three rungs, pushed back a bolt, raised the heavy trap
a little, and peered about from under it.

"The street's clear," he said. "Come on!"

He slipped out on to the pavement, helped the clumsy financier through
the trap, caught his hand, and ran him across the street into a narrow
lane.

"There!" he said cheerfully. "That's the most difficult part of the
business! You're out of the hotel, and not a soul knows it!"

The financier's spirits brightened. Tinker had shown him his mettle,
and he began to have confidence. Besides, he had drunk a good deal of
the bottle of brandy. They hurried through the town by byways, and up
on to the cliffs. As they near