deboard
in the light of the candles.

Talking over his shoulder all the while, Mr. Vandeleur poured out two
cups of the brown stimulant, and then, by a rapid act of
prestidigitation, emptied the contents of a tiny phial into the smaller
of the two. The thing was so swiftly done that even Francis, who looked
straight into his face, had hardly time to perceive the movement before
it was completed. And next instant, and still laughing, Mr. Vandeleur
had turned again towards the table with a cup in either hand.

"Ere we have done with this," said he, "we may expect our famous
Hebrew."

It would be impossible to depict the confusion and distress of Francis
Scrymgeour. He saw foul play going forward before his eyes, and he felt
bound to interfere, but knew not how. It might be a mere pleasantry, and
then how should he look if he were to offer an unnecessary warning? Or
again, if it were serious, the criminal might be his own father, and
then how should he not lament if he were to bring ruin on the author of
his days? For the first time he became conscious of his own position as
a spy. To wait inactive at such a juncture and with such a conflict of
sentiments in his bosom was to suffer the most acute torture; he clung
to the bars of the shutters, his heart beat fast and with irregularity,
and he felt a strong sweat break forth upon his body.

Several minutes passed.

He seemed to perceive the conversation die away and grow less and less
in vivacity and volume; but still no sign of any alarming or even
notable event.

Suddenly the ring of a glass breaking was followed by a faint and dull
sound, as of a person who should have fallen forward with his head upon
the table. At the same moment a piercing scream rose from the garden.

"What have you done?" cried Miss Vandeleur. "He is dead!"

The Dictator replied in a violent whisper, so strong and sibilant that
every word was audible to the watcher at the window.

"Silence!" said Mr. Vandeleur; "the man is as well as I am. Take him by
the heels whilst I carry him by the shoulders."

Francis heard Miss Vandeleur break forth into a passion of tears.

"Do you hear what I say?" resumed the Dictator, in the same tones. "Or
do you wish to quarrel with me? I give you your choice, Miss Vandeleur."

There was another pause, and the Dictator spoke again.

"Take that man by the heels," he said. "I must have him brought into the
house. If I were a little younger, I could help myse