"Oh, yes, you would. The greater the sinner the more need she or he

has of help, you know, my dear fellow. But get your coat on, and let us

toddle. I don't suppose we need pistols."

Sir Frank laughed, as, aided by the artist, he struggled into his

military greatcoat.

"I don't suppose that Mrs. Jasher will be dangerous," he remarked.

"We'll get what we can out of her, and then arrange what is best to be

done to recoup her fallen fortunes. Then she can go where she chooses,

and we can,--as the French say--return to our muttons."

"I think Donna Inez and Lucy would be annoyed to hear themselves called

muttons," laughed Archie, and the two men left the room.

The night was darker than ever, and a fine rain was falling incessantly.

When they left the dimly lighted archway of the fort through the

smaller, gate set in the larger one they stepped into midnight blackness

such as must have been spread over the land of Egypt. In accordance

with the primitive customs of Gartley inhabitants, one of them at least

should have been furnished with a lantern, as it was no easy task

to pick a clean way through the mud.---However, Archie, knowing the

surroundings better even than Random, led the way, and they walked

slowly through the iron gate on the hard high road which led to the

Fort. Immediately beyond this they turned towards the narrow cinder path

which led through the marshes to Mrs. Jasher's cottage, and toiled on

cautiously through the misty rain, which fell continuously. The fog was

drifting up from the mouth of the river and was growing so thick that

they could not see the somewhat feeble lights of the cottage. However,

Archie's instincts led him aright, and they blundered finally upon the

wooden gate. Here they paused in shocked surprise, for a woman's scream

rang out wildly and suddenly.

"What, in heaven's name, is that?" asked Hope, aghast.

"We must find out," breathed Random, and raced through the white

cotton-wool of the fog up the path. As he reached the veranda the door

opened and a woman came running out screaming. But other screams inside

the cottage still continued.

"What is the matter?" cried Random, seizing the woman.

She proved to be Jane.

"Oh, sir, my mistress is being murdered--"

Hope plunged past her into the corridor, not waiting to hear more. The

cries had died down to a low moaning, and he dashed into the pink parlor

to find it in smoky darkness. Striking a match, he held it above his

head. It showed Mrs. Jasher prone on the floor, and a dark figure

smashing its way through the flimsy window. There was a snarl and the

figure vanished as the match went out.




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