f and enough," loudly, and
then, "What's agate?"

Someone else answered, "It's Rooksby, it's Sir Ralph."

The voice interrupted sharply, "No names, now. I don't want hanging."
The hand left my arm; there was a pause in the motion of the procession.
I caught a moment's sound of whispering. Then a new voice cried, "Strip
the runners to the shirt. Strip 'em. That's it." I heard some groans and
a cry, "You won't murder us." Then a nasal drawl, "We will sure--_ly_."
Someone else, Rangsley, I think, called, "Bring 'em along--this way
now."

After a period of turmoil we seemed to come out of the crowd upon a very
rough, descending path; Rangsley had called out, "Now, then, the rest
of you be off; we've got enough here"; and the hoofs of heavy horses
sounded again. Then we came to a halt, and Rangsley called sharply irom
close to me:

"Now, you runners--and you, John Kemp--here you be on the brink of
eternity, above the old quarry. There's a sheer drop of a hundred feet.
We'll tie your legs and hang you by your fingers. If you hang long
enough, you'll have time to say your prayers. Look alive, lads!"

The voice of one of the runners began to shout, "You'll swing for
this--you------"

As for me I was in a dream. "Jack," I said, "Jack, you won't----"

"Oh, that's all right," the voice said in a whisper. "Mum, now! It's all
_right_."

It withdrew itself a little from my ear and called, "'Now then, ready
with them. When I say three...."

I heard groans and curses, and began to shout for help. My voice came
back in an echo, despairingly. Suddenly I was dragged backward, and the
bandage pulled from my eyes,

"Come along," Rangsley said, leading me gently enough to the road, which
was five steps behind. "It's all a joke," he snarled. "A pretty bad one
for those catchpolls. Hear 'em groan. The drop's not two feet."

We made a few paces down the road; the pitiful voices of the runners
crying for help came plainly to my ears.

"You--they--aren't murdering them?" I asked.

"No, no," he answered. "Can't afford to. Wish we could; but they'd make
it too hot for us."

We began to descend the hill. From the quarry a voice shrieked:

"Help--help--for the love of God--I can't. . . ."

There was a grunt and the sound of a fall; then a precisely similar
sequence of sounds.

"That'll teach 'em," Rangsley said ferociously. "Come along--they've
only rolled down a bank. They weren't over the quarry. It's all right. I
swear it is