d you shall hear further. Meantime, you need not
relax your own search, though, if it be as I suspect, failure is sure to
attend you."

Obliged to be satisfied with this promise, Osmond departed. On the
third night, at a late hour, he returned. He did not, however, find Luke
Hatton. The apothecary, it appeared, had been absent from home during
the last three days, and the old woman who attended upon him was full of
uneasiness on his account. Her master, she said, had left a letter on
his table, and on investigation it proved to be for Osmond. In it the
writer directed him, in the event of his non-return before the time
appointed, to repair without delay, well armed, to the vaults beneath
Mompesson's old habitation near the Fleet, and to make strict search for
him throughout them. He also acquainted him with a secret entrance into
the house, contrived in the walls beneath the lofty north-eastern
turret. On reading this letter, Osmond at once understood his ally's
plan, together with its danger, and felt that, as he had not returned,
he had, in all probability, fallen a victim to his rashness. Telling the
old woman whither he was going, and that inquiries might be made there
for him on the morrow, if he did not re-appear with her master, he set
out at once for the place indicated.

We shall, however, precede him.

Ever since Mompesson had been taken to the Fleet, his habitation had
been deserted. The place was cursed. So much odium attached to it,--so
many fearful tales were told of it,--that no one would dwell there. At
the time of its owner's committal, it was stripped of all its contents,
and nothing was left but bare walls and uncovered floors. Even these,
from neglect and desertion, had become dilapidated, and a drearier and
more desolate place could not be imagined. Strict search had been made
by the officers of the Star-Chamber for concealed treasure, but little
was found, the bulk having been carried off, as before related, by the
myrmidons. Nevertheless, it was supposed there were other secret hoards,
if a clue to them could only be found. Mompesson had been interrogated
on the subject; but he only made answers calculated to excite the
cupidity of his hearers without satisfying them, and they fancied he was
deceiving them.

On the night in question, to all outward appearance, the house was
sombre and deserted as usual, and the city watch who passed it at
midnight, and paused before its rusty gates and its nai