he strictest
silence, and to conceal yourselves in the densest of the shadow."

The three officers and the physician hastened to obey, and for nearly
ten minutes the only sound in Rochester House was occasioned by the
excursions of the rats behind the woodwork. At the end of that period, a
loud creak of a hinge broke in with surprising distinctness on the
silence; and shortly after, the watchers could distinguish a slow and
cautious tread approaching up the kitchen stair. At every second step
the intruder seemed to pause and lend an ear, and during these
intervals, which seemed of an incalculable duration, a profound disquiet
possessed the spirit of the listeners. Dr. Noel, accustomed as he was to
dangerous emotions, suffered an almost pitiful physical prostration; his
breath whistled in his lungs, his teeth grated one upon another, and his
joints cracked aloud as he nervously shifted his position.

At last a hand was laid upon the door, and the bolt shot back with a
slight report. There followed another pause, during which Brackenbury
could see the Prince draw himself together noiselessly as if for some
unusual exertion. Then the door opened, letting in a little more of the
light of the morning; and the figure of a man appeared upon the
threshold and stood motionless. He was tall, and carried a knife in his
hand. Even in the twilight they could see his upper teeth bare and
glistening, for his mouth was open like that of a hound about to leap.
The man had evidently been over the head in water but a minute or two
before; and even while he stood there the drops kept falling from his
wet clothes and pattered on the floor.

The next moment he crossed the threshold. There was a leap, a stifled
cry, an instantaneous struggle; and before Colonel Geraldine could
spring to his aid, the Prince held the man, disarmed and helpless, by
the shoulders.

"Dr. Noel," he said, "you will be so good as to re-light the lamp."

And relinquishing the charge of his prisoner to Geraldine and
Brackenbury, he crossed the room and set his back against the
chimney-piece. As soon as the lamp had kindled the party beheld an
unaccustomed sternness on the Prince's features. It was no longer
Florizel, the careless gentleman; it was the Prince of Bohemia, justly
incensed and full of deadly purpose, who now raised his head and
addressed the captive President of the Suicide Club.

"President," he said, "you have laid your last snare, and your own fee