rst thing he did was to stoop down over
Edward Gunning and take a pistol from his breast. "You take that,
Burdon," he said, "and use it if we are attacked."

"Which we shan't be, Sir John, if you help me to get this stone back in
its place."

He set the lamp on one of the chests and lent a hand, when the stone
dropped tightly into its place; and we dragged a couple of chests
across, side by side, before turning to young Mr Barclay, who lay there
on his side as if asleep.

"Now," says Sir John, as he laid his hand upon the young man's collar
and dragged him over on to his back, "I think we had better hand this
fellow over to the police."

"The doctor, you mean, sir. Look at him."

I needn't have bade him look, for Sir John was already doing that.

It was a doctor that I fetched, and not the police, for Mr Barclay lay
there quite insensible, and smelling as if he had taken to eating opium,
while Ned Gunning had so awful a cut across his temple that he would
soon have bled to death.

The doctor came and dressed the rascal's wounds as he was laid in my
pantry; but he shook his head over Mr Barclay, and with reason; for two
months had passed away before we got him down to Dorking, and saw his
pale face beginning to get something like what it was, with Miss
Virginia, forgiving and gentle, always by his side.

But I'm taking a very big jump, and saying nothing about our going
across to the house opposite as soon as it was daylight, to find the
door open and no one there; while the state of that basement and what we
saw there, and the artfulness of the people, and the labour they had
given in driving that passage right under the road as true as a die,
filled me with horror, and cost Sir John five hundred pounds.

Why, their measurements and calculations were as true as true; and if it
hadn't been for me missing that paper--which, of course, it was Edward
Gunning who stole it--those scoundrels would have carried off that
golden incubus as sure as we were alive. But they didn't get it; and
they had gone off scot-free, all but our late footman, who had
concussion of the brain in the hospital where he was took, Sir John
saying that he would let the poor wretch get well before he handed him
over to the police.

But, bless you, he never meant to. He was too pleased to get Mr
Barclay back, and to find that he hadn't the least idea about the golden
incubus being in the cellar; while as to the poor lad's sorrow about his