ng his blood on our clothes.
It's all over with him--that's certain; and now we must take care of
ourselves: what's done can't be undone. Pity we ever meddled with that
bag. But that's all past now. Not a word about this to living soul,
mates. I'm sure we all see as that's our line; and a blessed thing
it'll be if we manage to keep clear of another scrape. This one's been
bad enough, I'm sure."

So all slunk quietly back to their own homes. And next day all
Crossbourne was horrified to hear that Joe Wright had been found on the
line cut to pieces by some train that had run over him.

An inquest, of course, was held; but as it was well-known that poor Joe
was sadly addicted to drink, and was often away from his home for nights
together on drunken sprees, it was thought, in the absence of any
evidence to the contrary, that he had wandered on to the line in a state
of intoxication, and had been overtaken and killed by the express or
stopping train. A verdict of "accidental death" was given accordingly.

But poor Wright's sad end made no difference in the drunkenness of
Crossbourne; indeed, Ned and his two companions in that awful night's
adventure dared not leave their old haunts and ways, even had they
wished to do so, lest any change in their habits should arouse suspicion
against them. So Alcohol still maintained his sway over a vast body of
loyal subjects in the busy town, and gathered in the spoils of desolate
homes, broken hearts, and shattered constitutions.

CHAPTER THREE.

DOCTOR JOHN PROSSER.

The express train which passed through Crossbourne station between ten
and eleven o'clock on the night when Joe Wright met with his sad end,
arrived in London about three a.m. the following morning. It was
heavily laden, for it conveyed a large number of persons from the north,
who were coming up to the metropolis to spend Christmas with their
friends.

From a first-class carriage about the middle of the train there emerged
a heap of coats and wraps, surmounted by a fur cap, the whole enclosing
a gentleman of middle age and middle height, with black beard and
moustache, and gold-rimmed spectacles.

"Cab, sir?" asked the porter who opened the door.

"If you please."

"Any luggage, sir?"

"Yes; it was put on the roof of my carriage."

"All right, sir; I'll see to it if you'll get into the cab."

So the gentleman, who was John Prosser, PhD, got into the cab which was
waiting for him; and having se