I learned that the keys to the hall had been stolen from under
Sir George's pillow, and that the prisoner had escaped from the dungeon.
Old Bess, the cook, nodded her head wisely and whispered to me the words,
"Good for Mistress Doll."

Bess's unsought confidence alarmed me. I did not relish the thought that
Bess nor any one else should believe me to be in sympathy with Dorothy,
and I said:--

"If Mistress Vernon had aught to do with last night's affairs, she should
be full of shame. I will not believe that she knew of it at all. My
opinion is that one of the servants was bribed by some person interested
in Tom-Tom's escape."

"Believe nothing of the sort," retorted Bess. "It is the mistress and not
the servant who stole the keys and liberated Tom-Tom. But the question is,
who may Tom-Tom be? and the servants' hall is full of it. We are not
uncertain as to the manner of his escape. Some of the servants do say that
the Earl of Leicester be now visiting the Duke of Devonshire; and some
also do say that his Lordship be fond of disguises in his gallantry. They
do also say that the queen is in love with him, and that he must disguise
himself when he woos elsewhere, or she be's famously jealous. It would be
a pretty mess the master has brought us all into should Tom-Tom prove to
be my lord Earl of Leicester. We'd all hang and to hell."

"Bess, that tongue of yours will cost you your head one of these good
times," I remarked, while I rubbed my face with the towel.

"I would sooner lose my head," retorted Bess, "than have my mouth shut by
fear. I know, Sir Malcolm, that I'll not die till my time comes; but
please the good God when my time does come I will try to die talking."

"That you will," said I.

"True word, Sir Malcolm," she answered, and I left her in possession of
the field.

I went into the courtyard, and when Sir George saw me he said, "Malcolm,
come with me to my room; I want a word with you."

We went to his room.

"I suppose you know of the fellow's escape last night?" he said.

"Yes," I replied, "Bess told me about it in the kitchen."

It seemed to me that my words said, "I did it."

"Not only was the fellow liberated," said my cousin, "but the keys to all
the outer gates and doors of the Hall have been stolen and carried away.
Can you help me unravel this affair?"

"Do you suspect any one of having stolen the keys?" I asked.

"I know, of course, that Dorothy did it. Who her accomplices were, if