nding woollen. The lucky man was tearing a strip from his blanket. "I
think this will do," said he, pulling it between his hands to test its
strength. "I am an old man." It was possible that he debated concerning
the descent of some abyss into which the strip of blanket was to lower
him. "Here, Bland, catch hold. Where are ye?--don't be faint-hearted,
man. It won't take ye long."

It was quite dark now in the cell, but as Bland advanced his face was
like a white mask floating upon the darkness, it was so ghastly pale.
Dawes pressed his lucky comrade's hand, and withdrew to the farthest
corner. Bland and Mooney were for a few moments occupied with the
rope--doubtless preparing for escape by means of it. The silence
was broken only by the convulsive jangling of Bland's irons--he was
shuddering violently. At last Mooney spoke again, in strangely soft and
subdued tones.

"Dawes, lad, do you think there is a Heaven?"

"I know there is a Hell," said Dawes, without turning his face.

"Ay, and a Heaven, lad. I think I shall go there. You will, old chap,
for you've been good to me--God bless you, you've been very good to me."

* * * * *

When Troke came in the morning he saw what had occurred at a glance, and
hastened to remove the corpse of the strangled Mooney.

"We drew lots," said Rufus Dawes, pointing to Bland, who crouched in the
corner farthest from his victim, "and it fell upon him to do it. I'm the
witness."

"They'll hang you for all that," said Troke.

"I hope so," said Rufus Dawes.

The scheme of escape hit upon by the convict intellect was simply this.
Three men being together, lots were drawn to determine whom should be
murdered. The drawer of the longest straw was the "lucky" man. He was
killed. The drawer of the next longest straw was the murderer. He was
hanged. The unlucky one was the witness. He had, of course, an excellent
chance of being hung also, but his doom was not so certain, and he
therefore looked upon himself as unfortunate.

CHAPTER X. A MEETING.

John Rex found the "George" disagreeably prepared for his august
arrival. Obsequious waiters took his dressing-bag and overcoat, the
landlord himself welcomed him at the door. Two naval gentlemen came
out of the coffee-room to stare at him. "Have you any more luggage,
Mr. Devine?" asked the landlord, as he flung open the door of the best
drawing-room. It was awkwardly evident tha