g of an iron door of great strength.

"Give me the bottle," said Arthur, panting. "Can't you do something
beside shivering there?"

Roach groaned as he handed the bottle.

"Man wants a bit o' Dutch courage over a job like this."

"We shall never get out," groaned Roach.

"Not if it's left to you, old man. You'd turn it into a tomb at once.
Here, I've left you a drop. Tip it off, and see if it'll put some pluck
into you. There, I've tried fair play and quiet; now it's got to be
foul play and noise. Give me hold of the hammer and let's see what a
wedge'll do."

"Hist! What's that?"

Arthur needed no telling to be silent. Snatching the light from his
companion, he reached over to the portmanteau and took out the two small
revolvers, handed one to his companion, and whispered to him--

"It was the lock. Someone coming. Don't fire without you're obliged.
I'll try the hammer first."

As he spoke he blew out the little lamp, and set it down, before
standing facing the door with his hand raised, ready to strike down the
first who entered.

Some minutes must have elapsed without further alarm, and the two men
were ready to believe that the sharp snap they had heard must have come
from the iron door of the closet, the frame springing back after being
strained by the application of the wedges that had been driven in.

All at once, just as an attack was about to be made once more upon the
way by which they had entered, and Arthur had taken a fresh match from
his box, a soft light began to dawn, grew rapidly, and dazzled their
eyes, as they strove to make out whence it came, and stood ready once
more to strike.

It was not from the passage door, but from the ceiling just over the
great safe, and as the men stood trembling with fear and excitement,
there was a spurt of smoke from the great iron safe, a dull concussion,
and the footman fell back. While as the butler stood staring upward,
his face ashy grey in the soft light, as the smoke curled about a
glowing bulk, there was a second spurt of smoke, and concussion, the
wretched man fell forward across his companion, and the light grew
dimmer in the heavy clinging vapour, slowly dying out into utter
darkness, while the silence was as that of the tomb.

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

UNDER THE BEECHES.

It was a lovely morning in the sylvan solitude by The Towers, and
leaving Mrs James and Mrs Dennis Clareborough in the drawing-room,
Marion took her sunshade a