in one corner. Hugh pointed them out to the
driver. "Put them on top of the cab," he said. The flyman proceeded to
do so.

When the man was outside the door, Hugh Ritson turned to Mrs. Drayton.
The landlady was fussing about, twitching her apron between nervous
fingers. "Mrs. Drayton," said Hugh, "you will go in this fly to the
Convent of St. Margaret, Westminster. There you will ask for Mrs.
Ritson, the lady who was here on Friday night. You will tell her that
you have her luggage with you, and that she is to go with you to St.
Pancras Station to meet her husband, and return to Cumberland by the
midnight train. You understand?"

"I can't say as I do, sir, asking pardon, sir. If so be as the lady axes
why her husband didn't come for her hisself--what then?"

"Then say what is true--nothing more, Mrs. Drayton."

"And happen what may that be, sir?"

"That her husband is ill--but mind--not seriously."

"Oh, well, I can speak to that, sir, being as I saw the poor gentleman."

Mrs. Drayton was putting on her bonnet and shawl. The flyman had fixed
the luggage on top of the cab, and was standing in the bar, whip in
hand.

"A glass for the driver," said Hugh. Mrs. Drayton moved toward the
counter. "No, you get into the cab, Mrs. Drayton; Mercy will serve."

Mercy went behind the counter and served the liquor in an absent manner.

"It's now ten-thirty," said Hugh, looking at his watch. "You will drive
first to the convent, Westminster, and from there to St. Pancras, to
catch the train at twelve."

Saying this, he walked to the door and put his head through the window
of the cab. The landlady was settling herself in her seat. "Mrs.
Drayton," he whispered, "you must not utter a syllable about your son
when you see the lady. Mind that. You understand?"

"Well, sir, I can't say--being as I saw the gentleman--wherever's Paul?"

"Hush!"

The driver came out. He leaped to his seat. In another moment the cab
rattled away.

Hugh Ritson walked back into the house. The boy Jabez had come
down-stairs. "When do you close the house?" Hugh asked.

"Eleven o'clock, sir," said Jabez.

"No one here--you might almost as well close now. No matter--go behind
the bar, my lad. Mercy, your eyes are more inflamed than ever; get away
to bed immediately."

Mercy's eyes were not more red than their expression was one of
bewilderment. She moved off mechanically. When she reached the foot of
the stairs she turned and tried to speak. T