shaft that had once crossed the floor now crossed the bed. The
light fell on the face of the prostrate man. His eyes were open.

"Water--water!" said Paul Ritson, very feebly.

Hugh Ritson stepped out of the moonlight and went behind his brother.
Then Mercy saw a hand before Paul's face, putting a spirit flask to his
mouth.

When the hand was raised the face twitched slightly, the eyes closed
with a convulsive tremor, and the half-lifted head fell back on to the
pillow.

"He'll be quieter than ever now," said Hugh Ritson, softly. Mercy
thought she must have screamed, but the instinct of self-preservation
kept her still. She stirred not a limb. Her head rested against the
wall, her eyes peered into the darkness, her parched tongue and parted
lips burned like fire.

"Quick! put his clothes on to your own back, and let us be gone."

Drayton drew on the garments and laughed hoarsely. "And a good fit,
too--same make of a man to a T--ex--act--ly!"

The window and the door stood face to face; the bed was on the left of
the door, with the head at the door-end. The narrow alcove in which the
girl stood was to the left of the window, and in front of the window
there was a dressing-table. Drayton stepped up to this table to fix the
cravat by the glass. The faint moonlight that fell on his grinning face
was reflected dimly into the mirror.

At that moment Mercy's sickening eyes turned toward the bed. There, in
repose that was like death itself, lay the upturned face of Paul Ritson.
Two faces cast by nature in the same mold--one white and serene and
peaceful, the other bloated, red, smirking, distorted by passion, with
cruel eyes and smoking lips.

"The very thing--the very thing--damme if his own mother wouldn't take
me for her son!"

Hugh Ritson stepped to Drayton's side. When he spoke his voice was like
a cold blast of wind.

"Now listen: From this moment at which you change your coat for his you
cease to be Paul Drayton, and become Paul Ritson."

"Didn't you say I was to be Paul Lowther?"

"That will come later."

"As I say, it won't go into my nob."

"No matter; say nothing to yourself but this, 'I am to pretend to be
Paul Ritson.'"

"Well, now for it!"

"Ready?" asked Hugh. He returned to the bed-head.

"Ready."

"Then give a hand here. We must put him up into your garret. When the
police come for him he must seem to be in hiding and in drink. You
understand?"

A low, hoarse laugh was the only answe