hind the door made a dash for it, and the next instant the
three men were locked together.

Burleigh, standing in the doorway, looked on coldly, reserving himself
for the scene which was to follow. Except for the stumbling of the men
and the sharp catch of the prisoner's breath, there was no noise. A
helmet fell off and bounced and rolled along the floor. The men fell;
there was a sobbing snarl and a sharp click. A tall figure rose from the
floor; the other, on his knees, still held the man down. The standing
figure felt in his pocket, and, striking a match, lit the gas.

The light fell on the flushed face and fair beard of the sergeant. He
was bare-headed, and his hair dishevelled. Burleigh entered the room and
gazed eagerly at the half-insensible man on the floor-a short, thick-set
fellow with a white, dirty face and a black moustache. His lip was cut
and bled down his neck. Burleigh glanced furtively at the table. The
cloth had come off in the struggle, and was now in the place where he had
left Fletcher.

"Hot work, sir," said the sergeant, with a smile. "It's fortunate we
were handy."

The prisoner raised a heavy head and looked up with unmistakable terror
in his eyes.

"All right, sir," he said, trembling, as the constable increased the
pressure of his knee. "I 'ain't been in the house ten minutes
altogether. By ---, I've not."

The sergeant regarded him curiously.

"It don't signify," he said, slowly; "ten minutes or ten seconds won't
make any difference."

The man shook and began to whimper.

"It was 'ere when I come," he said, eagerly; "take that down, sir. I've
only just come, and it was 'ere when I come. I tried to get away then,
but I was locked in."

"What was?" demanded the sergeant.

"That," he said, desperately.

The sergeant, following the direction of the terror-stricken black eyes,
stooped by the table. Then, with a sharp exclamation, he dragged away
the cloth. Burleigh, with a sharp cry of horror, reeled back against the
wall.

"All right, sir," said the sergeant, catching him; "all right. Turn your
head away."

He pushed him into a chair, and crossing the room, poured out a glass of
whiskey and brought it to him. The glass rattled against his teeth, but
he drank it greedily, and then groaned faintly. The sergeant waited
patiently. There was no hurry.

"Who is it, sir?" he asked at length.

"My friend--Fletcher," said Burleigh, with an effort. "We lived