an's grip, I suppose?" said Classon, in
assumed mockery. "Just try if you cannot unclasp his fingers."

"I wouldn't touch him if you offered me a thousand guineas for it," said
Driscoll, shuddering.

"Nonsense, man. We cannot stand fooling here, and I shall only hurt him
if I try it with one hand. Come, open his fingers gently. Be quick. I
hear voices without, and the tramp of horses' feet in the court below.
Where are you going? You're not about to leave me here?"

"May I never! if I know what to do," muttered Driscoll, in a voice of
despair. "And did n't I tell you from the first it would bring bad luck
upon us?"

"The worst of all luck is to be associated with a fool and a coward,"
said Classon, savagely. "Open these fingers at once, or give me a knife
and I 'll do it myself."

"The Lord forgive you, but you 're a terrible man!" cried Driscoll,
moving stealthily towards the door.

"So you _are_ going?" muttered Paul, with a voice of intense passion.
"You would leave me here to take the consequences, whatever they might
be?"

Driscoll made no reply, but stepped hastily out of the room, and closed
the door.

For a moment Classon stood still and motionless; then bending down his
head, he tried to listen to what was passing outside, for there was
a sound of voices in the corridor, and Driscoll's one of them. "The
scoundrel is betraying me!" muttered Paul to himself. "At all events,
these must not be found upon me." And with this, and by the aid of his
one disengaged hand, he proceeded to strew the floor of the room with
the various papers he had abstracted from the box. Again, too, he
listened; but now all was still without. What could it mean? Had
Driscoll got clear away, without even alluding to him? And now he turned
his gaze upon the sick man, who lay there calm and motionless as
before. "This will end badly if I cannot make my escape," muttered he
to himself; and he once more strove with all his might to unclasp the
knotted fingers; but such was the rigid tenacity of their grasp, they
felt as though they must sooner be broken than yield. "Open your hand,
sir. Let me free," whispered he, in Conway's ear. "That fellow has
robbed you, and I must follow him. There, my poor man, unclasp your
fingers," said he, caressingly, "or it will be too late!"

[Illustration: 402]

Was it a delusion, that he thought a faint flickering of a smile passed
over that death-like countenance? And now, in whispered entreaty,
C