in a day or two he was down at
the nearest spot where he could unobserved obtain lodgings, ostensibly
trout fishing the stream that meandered by The Towers, the
Clareboroughs' Kentish estate.

Still he could not obtain a second interview. He knew, though, that
which filled him with exultation and patience to wait--he was loved.

There were troubles at The Towers in the lower stratum, all connected
with speculation; and, though money was worthless in these days in
Chester's eyes, the speculation affected his fate.

It was in this wise:--

Roach looked puffy, and especially so beneath the eyes, where a couple
of pendulous bags disfigured his important-looking countenance.

Unkind people would have said that the flushed aspect was due to
drinking, but he was perfectly steady as he got out of a hansom cab, in
company with Arthur, after a short run up to town, where they had
arrived by a fast train that afternoon, and taking the two small, light
portmanteaus which the driver handed down, each threw his overcoat
across his arm, and they walked together round the corner into Highcombe
Street, made for the Clareboroughs' town house, tried the area gate,
which, as they expected, was locked, and went up the steps to the front
door.

"How do you feel, Arthur?" whispered Roach.

"Right as the mail, old man. Now then, no gammon. You keep your pecker
up, and do the talking, and I'll do the business. There's nothing to
mind."

"Nothing to mind?" said Roach, as he raised his hand towards the
servants' bell, but did not ring.

"Only the handcuffs if we don't do what we want and clear off."

Roach groaned.

"Don't be a fool, old man," whispered the footman. "As I told you, we
must do it now. The game's up, and you know what Jemmy is. There'll be
no mercy, so let's make our hay while the sun shines. Pull the bell."

With trembling hand Roach rang the servants' bell, and then drew a deep
breath.

"That's right, old man, pull yourself together. Think it's going to be
a lark, and after it a fortune for us both."

"Yes, I'm going to be firm now," growled Roach, hoarsely. "It's our
only chance, Orthur, so stand by me."

"Like an iron post, old man. That's the way, jolly's the style. Here
she comes."

They caught a glimpse of the housekeeper at the side window, and
directly after the door was open.

"Good-morning, ma'am," began the butler.

"Good-morning, Mrs Barron, ma'am," said Arthur.

She looked sternl