erious manner, but to doubt his
fidelity to the cause. And, all of a sudden, Cutts, who had at first
extolled Jasper as one likely to be a valuable acquisition to the Family
of Night, altered his tone, and insinuated that the bravo was not to be
trusted; that his reckless temper and incautious talk when drunk would
unfit him for a safe accomplice in any skilful project of plunder;
and that he was so unscrupulous, and had so little sympathy with their
class, that he might be quite capable of playing spy or turning king's
evidence; that, in short, it would be well to rid themselves of his
domineering presence. Still there was that physical power in this
lazy Hercules--still, if the Do-nought, he was so fiercely the
Dreadnought--that they did not dare, despite the advantage of numbers,
openly to brave and defy him. No one would bell the cat--and such a cat!
They began to lay plots to get rid of him through the law. Nothing could
be easier to such knowing adepts in guilt than to transfer to his charge
any deed of violence one of their own gang had committed--heap damning
circumstances round him--privily apprise justice--falsely swear away his
life. In short, the man was in their way as a wasp that has blundered
into an ants' nest; and, while frightened at the size of the intruder,
these honest ants were resolved to get him out of their citadel alive or
dead. Probable it was that Jasper Losely would meet with his deserts at
last for an offence of which he was as innocent as a babe unborn.

It is at this juncture that we are re-admitted to the presence of
Arabella Crane.

She was standing by a window on the upper floor of a house situated in
a narrow street. The blind was let down, but she had drawn it a little
aside, and was looking out. By the fireside was seated a thin, vague,
gnome-like figure, perched comfortless on the edge of a rush-bottomed
chair, with its shadowy knees drawn up till they nearly touched its
shadowy chin. There was something about the outline of this figure
so indefinite and unsubstantial, that you might have taken it for an
optical illusion, a spectral apparition on the point of vanishing. This
thing was, however, possessed of voice, and was speaking in a low but
distinct hissing whisper. As the whisper ended, Arabella Crane, without
turning her face, spoke, also under her breath.

"You are sure that, so long as Losely draws this weekly stipend from
the man whom he has in his power, he will persist