e realised that his life depended on his
extricating himself from the terrible labyrinth in which he was
entangled. He struck match after match, till his stock was expended,
and then, panting, weary, and sore, he clenched his teeth and battled
onward. It seemed miles to the end of the passage. He imagined that
he had got into some new tunnel, the opening of which he had passed
unwittingly when he crept into the trap; and to the natural dread of his
situation was added the horrible fear that he was lost in the bowels of
the earth.

And then, when his strength and nerve had all but given out, came
deliverance. Before him he saw a faint glimmer of light, which grew
brighter and brighter as he pressed painfully forward, and ere he knew
that he was safe he found himself in the gallery behind the organ loft.

But what was the brilliant light that filled the nave of the Cathedral?
What was the sound he heard? It was the sound of men's voices.

Sitting round a fire, whose red flames illumined the white walls of the
grotto, were four men, who talked loudly as they dried their wet
garments before the blaze.

Tresco crept to the trellis-work of the gallery, and peered down upon
the scene. In the shifting light which the unsteady flames threw across
the great cave below he could hardly distinguish one man from another,
except where facing the ruddy light the features of this intruder or of
that reflected the fierce glow.

"I had to chiv the fat bloke, an' he squealed like a pig when I jabbed
'im." The speaker was sitting cross-legged with his back towards Tresco,
and was wiping the blade of a big butcher's knife.

"My man died coughing," said another. "'E coughed as 'e sat like a
trussed fowl, an' when I 'squeezed' 'im, 'e just give one larst little
cough an' pegged out quite pleasant, like droppin' orf to sleep."

"It's been a bloody mess," remarked a third speaker. "There's Garstang
there, a mass of blood all over his shirt, and there's the two men that
was shot; any'ow you like to look at it, it's an unworkmanlike job. All
four of 'em should ha' been 'squeezed'--bullets make reports and blood's
messy."

"Garn! Whatyer givin' us, Dolly?" said the youngest member of the gang.
"Didn't you shoot your own man--an' on the track, too? I don't see what
you've got to growl at. We've got the gold--what more do you want?"

"I shot the unfortunate man, your Honour, firstly because he was a
constable, and secondly because he was gi