away!"

Welsh looked at him for a moment in some astonishment, and then burst out
laughing.

"What a joke!" he cried; "I don't see anything to make a fuss about. We're
jolly well rid of him."

"The fee! I won't get a penny till I bring him back. And the whole thing
will be found out!"

As the full meaning of this predicament burst upon Welsh, his face
underwent a change by no means pleasant to watch. For a full minute he
swore, and then an ominous silence fell upon the room.

Twiddel was the first to recover himself.

"Let me see the letter," he said; "I haven't finished it."

Welsh read it aloud--

"DEAR TWIDDEL,--I regret to inform you that the patient, Francis Beveridge,
whom you placed under my care, has escaped from Clankwood. We have made
every inquiry consistent with strict privacy, but unfortunately have not
yet been able to lay our hands upon him. We only know that he left
Ashditch Junction in the London express, and was seen walking out of St
Euston's Cross. How he has been able to maintain himself in concealment
without money or clothes, I am unable to imagine.

"As no inquiries have been made for him by his cousin Mr Welsh, or any
other of his friends or relatives, I am writing to you that you may inform
them, and I hope that this letter may follow you abroad without delay. I
may add that the circumstances of his escape showed most unusual cunning,
and could not possibly have been guarded against.

"Trusting that you are having a pleasant holiday, I am, yours very truly,

ADOLPHUS S. CONGLETON."

The two looked at one another in silence for a minute, and then Welsh
said, fiercely, "You must catch him again, Twiddel. Do you think I am
going to have all my risk and trouble for nothing?"

"_I_ must catch him! Do you suppose _I_ let him loose?"

"You must catch him, all the same."

"I shan't bother my head about him," answered Twiddel, with the
recklessness of despair.

"You won't? You want to have the story known, I suppose?"

"I don't care if it is."

Welsh looked at him for a minute: then he jumped up and exclaimed, "You
need a drink, old man. Let's hurry up that slavey."

With the first course their countenances cleared a little, with the second
they were almost composed, by the end of dinner they had started
plot-hatching hopefully again.

"It's any odds on the man's still being in town," said Welsh. "He had no
money or clothes, an