had risen to be his superior, in virtue of his old
propensity (one so much lauded by the murdered man) of being always
round the corner. A useful habit in his present calling.

'Where is he?' asked the man.

Slyme looked into the room for an instant and gave his head a jerk as
much as to say, 'Close at hand. I see him.'

'He's booked,' observed the man.

'Through,' said Slyme.

They looked at each other, and up and down the street. The man on
the coach-steps took his hat off, and put it on again, and whistled a
little.

'I say! He's taking his time!' he remonstrated.

'I allowed him five minutes,' said Slyme. 'Time's more than up, though.
I'll bring him down.'

He withdrew from the window accordingly, and walked on tiptoe to the
door in the partition. He listened. There was not a sound within. He set
the candles near it, that they might shine through the glass.

It was not easy, he found, to make up his mind to the opening of
the door. But he flung it wide open suddenly, and with a noise; then
retreated. After peeping in and listening again, he entered.

He started back as his eyes met those of Jonas, standing in an angle of
the wall, and staring at him. His neckerchief was off; his face was ashy
pale.

'You're too soon,' said Jonas, with an abject whimper. 'I've not had
time. I have not been able to do it. I--five minutes more--two minutes
more!--only one!'

Slyme gave him no reply, but thrusting the purse upon him and forcing it
back into his pocket, called up his men.

He whined, and cried, and cursed, and entreated them, and struggled, and
submitted, in the same breath, and had no power to stand. They got him
away and into the coach, where they put him on a seat; but he soon fell
moaning down among the straw at the bottom, and lay there.

The two men were with him. Slyme being on the box with the driver; and
they let him lie. Happening to pass a fruiterer's on their way; the door
of which was open, though the shop was by this time shut; one of them
remarked how faint the peaches smelled.

The other assented at the moment, but presently stooped down in quick
alarm, and looked at the prisoner.

'Stop the coach! He has poisoned himself! The smell comes from this
bottle in his hand!'

The hand had shut upon it tight. With that rigidity of grasp with which
no living man, in the full strength and energy of life, can clutch a
prize he has won.

They dragged him out into the dark street; but jury, ju