fellow.
And blood shall not wipe out--what liquor may?"

The hint was sufficient; but ere he had drained another glass, Mr.
Barker was decidedly incapable of managing his affairs, much less
theirs; and became withal exceedingly quarrelsome, returning angrily to
the grievance of Briggs having been called a fellow; in spite of all
their entreaties, he talked himself into a passion, and at last, to
Campbell's extreme disgust, rushed out of the bar into the street.

"This is too vexations! To have kept half-an-hour's company with such an
animal, and then to have him escape me after all! A just punishment on
me for pandering to his drunkenness."

Tom made no answer, but went quietly to the door, and peeped out.

"Pay for his liquor, Major, and follow. Keep a few yards behind me;
there will be less chance of his recognising us than if he saw us both
together."

"Why, where do you think he's going?"

"Not home, I can see. Ten to one that he will go raging off straight to
Briggs, to put him on his guard against us. Just like a drunkard's
cunning it would be. There, he has turned up that side street. Now
follow me quick. Oh that he may only keep his legs!"

They gained the bottom of that street before he had turned out of it;
and so through another, and another, till they ran him to earth in one
of the courts out of St. Martin's Lane.

Into a doorway he went, and up a stair. Tom stood listening at the
bottom, till he heard the fellow knock at a door far above, and call out
in a drunken tone. Then he beckoned to Campbell, and both, careless of
what might follow, ran upstairs, and pushing him aside, entered the room
without ceremony.

Their chances of being on the right scent were small enough, considering
that, though every one was out of town, there were a million and a half
of people in London at that moment; and, unfortunately, at least fifty
thousand who would have considered Mr. John Barker a desirable visitor;
but somehow, in the excitement of the chase, both had forgotten the
chances against them, and the probability that they would have to retire
downstairs again, apologising humbly to some wrathful Joseph Buggins,
whose convivialities they might have interrupted. But no; Tom's cunning
had, as usual, played him true; and as they entered the door, they
beheld none other than the lost Elsley Vavasour, alias John Briggs.

Major Campbell advanced bowing, hat in hand, with a courteous apology on
his lips.

It wa