last
he hazily caught sight of his commander, and, in despite of Dick's
imperious signals, hailed him instantly and loudly by his name.

Dick leaped upon and shook the drunkard furiously.

"Beast!" he hissed--"beast and no man! It is worse than treachery to be
so witless. We may all be shent for thy sotting."

But Lawless only laughed and staggered, and tried to clap young Shelton
on the back.

And just then Dick's quick ear caught a rapid brushing in the arras. He
leaped towards the sound, and the next moment a piece of the wall-hanging
had been torn down, and Dick and the spy were sprawling together in its
folds. Over and over they rolled, grappling for each other's throat, and
still baffled by the arras, and still silent in their deadly fury. But
Dick was by much the stronger, and soon the spy lay prostrate under his
knee, and, with a single stroke of the long poniard, ceased to breathe.

CHAPTER III--THE DEAD SPY

Throughout this furious and rapid passage, Lawless had looked on
helplessly, and even when all was over, and Dick, already re-arisen to
his feet, was listening with the most passionate attention to the distant
bustle in the lower storeys of the house, the old outlaw was still
wavering on his legs like a shrub in a breeze of wind, and still stupidly
staring on the face of the dead man.

"It is well," said Dick, at length; "they have not heard us, praise the
saints! But, now, what shall I do with this poor spy? At least, I will
take my tassel from his wallet."

So saying, Dick opened the wallet; within he found a few pieces of money,
the tassel, and a letter addressed to Lord Wensleydale, and sealed with
my Lord Shoreby's seal. The name awoke Dick's recollection; and he
instantly broke the wax and read the contents of the letter. It was
short, but, to Dick's delight, it gave evident proof that Lord Shoreby
was treacherously corresponding with the House of York.

The young fellow usually carried his ink-horn and implements about him,
and so now, bending a knee beside the body of the dead spy, he was able
to write these words upon a corner of the paper:

My Lord of Shoreby, ye that writt the letter, wot ye why your man is
ded? But let me rede you, marry not.

JON AMEND-ALL.

He laid this paper on the breast of the corpse; and then Lawless, who had
been looking on upon these last manoeuvres with some flickering retu