ied recklessly. 'Waterloo Station for your
life. Sixpence for yourself!'

'Make it a shilling, guv'ner,' said the man, with a grin; 'the other
parties were first.'

'A shilling then,' cried Morris, with the inward reflection that he
would reconsider it at Waterloo. The man whipped up his horse, and the
hansom vanished from John Street.

CHAPTER VI. The Tribulations of Morris: Part the First

As the hansom span through the streets of London, Morris sought to
rally the forces of his mind. The water-butt with the dead body had
miscarried, and it was essential to recover it. So much was clear; and
if, by some blest good fortune, it was still at the station, all might
be well. If it had been sent out, however, if it were already in the
hands of some wrong person, matters looked more ominous. People who
receive unexplained packages are usually keen to have them open; the
example of Miss Hazeltine (whom he cursed again) was there to remind him
of the circumstance; and if anyone had opened the water-butt--'O Lord!'
cried Morris at the thought, and carried his hand to his damp forehead.
The private conception of any breach of law is apt to be inspiriting,
for the scheme (while yet inchoate) wears dashing and attractive
colours. Not so in the least that part of the criminal's later
reflections which deal with the police. That useful corps (as Morris
now began to think) had scarce been kept sufficiently in view when
he embarked upon his enterprise. 'I must play devilish close,' he
reflected, and he was aware of an exquisite thrill of fear in the region
of the spine.

'Main line or loop?' enquired the cabman, through the scuttle.

'Main line,' replied Morris, and mentally decided that the man should
have his shilling after all. 'It would be madness to attract attention,'
thought he. 'But what this thing will cost me, first and last, begins to
be a nightmare!'

He passed through the booking-office and wandered disconsolately on the
platform. It was a breathing-space in the day's traffic. There were
few people there, and these for the most part quiescent on the benches.
Morris seemed to attract no remark, which was a good thing; but, on the
other hand, he was making no progress in his quest. Something must be
done, something must be risked. Every passing instant only added to his
dangers. Summoning all his courage, he stopped a porter, and asked him
if he remembered receiving a barrel by the morning train. He was anxious