The Outlaw (Marriott Watson)/Chapter 2

T falls, I think, to few people to suffer so huge a revolution in life as I had experienced. Here was I—partly, no doubt, as you will justly urge, by my own precipitate acts—an outlaw, a pariah from society, a fugitive from justice. I was “wanted” upon a capital charge, as indeed I learned very soon. My flight from that accursed house was followed by the natural consequences. The two bodies were discovered by the police, and the woman told her tale, as she had threatened me. She was a resolute person, and I had in my panic thrown the opportunity into her hands. That night I read the story of the murders in the evening papers. She had carried out her promise; it was said that the “police were in possession of a letter which would afford a clue.” What that letter was I did not doubt. I looked upon myself with formidable terror. From my rooms I had taken train into the country; but that night I put down the paper and crept back to London—afraid. I was safer in that monstrous hive of human creatures.

And now began a period in my history to which I can look back with no feeling but horror. I lived in mean suburban parts, terrified to make an acquaintance, and, for a time, set a-trembling should a voice address me. My money failing, I was compelled to descend into a lower stratum, and soon I was at the first stages of despair. I slept in a garret in some slums across the river, not far from Cherry Gardens—save the mark! I walked the streets by day with nothing to do, and at the sound of a policeman's footsteps fled into by-ways. I was sorely driven for money, and I had no means of getting at my bank. I dared not. But after some time I fell into the habit of my unfortunate class; I began to be accustomed to be “wanted,” and to live mechanically in my new conditions. The adjustment had been painful, but it was now roughly accomplished. I was still like a hare with my eye upon the dogs, but I was no longer possessed with the terror of them all day and all night. I made shift to go about with some degree of complacency and ease. I knew now what to avoid, and what risks might be properly run. I was not so fearful of recognition among the millions of the faces in the Metropolis. I was, in fact, acclimatising myself.

But, together with this increase in my confidence, came a growing destitution. I often went without food, and at last I was confronted face to face with the prospect of starvation. It was with the feeling that I must do something, make a strenuous effort to prepare a future for myself, that I wandered one sour March evening into the neighbourhood of Piccadilly. I usually kept farther East, and haunted the Strand, the Borough, or Islington. I had managed up to this time to keep my clothes respectable. I had but the one suit (for the others had long since gone, with all my personal effects of value); but though shining somewhat with use it was still neat and advertised its West End origin. I turned presently into a narrow street of Mayfair with a definite intention. I was desperate, I had brought myself to the pitch through thinking, and I had made up my mind. I would see if Roach, my doctor and an old friend of ten years' standing, could give me any help. Till now I had communicated with none of my former acquaintances; fear and shame alike held me back. But I would try Roach. I rapped on the door and rang the bell, and I leave you to conceive with what thoughts I waited there upon the steps. A man-servant opened the door. Dr. Roach was out! At once I had a terrible feeling of disappointment, mingled with relief; and murmuring I would call again, and refusing my name, I turned away. The man closed the door. For a moment I stood there upon the stone steps, considering anxiously, when my ear was caught by a voice which appeared to address me from the road. I looked down, and in the faint light could just make out the figure of a little old woman, very curiously dressed.

“My tibby,” said she, or some such words.

“I beg your pardon,” I said, and stepping quickly into the street beside her, I eyed her with some curiosity, for she was an odd sight. A certain look of guile lurked in the smile which puckered her withered face.

“My tibby,” said she again: “I'll swear you're straight now.”

“And what if I am?” I said, examining her narrowly.

That smirking countenance blandished me, while all the time I was conscious a pair of keen eyes that scrutinised me closely.

“You're safe, ducky darling?” queried the old creature, leering at me.

“It depends,” I replied vaguely. “It depends upon the party.”

“Oh, I can count up my fives,” said the hag with a grin.

“I'll take your word for that,” I answered, “and my own senses. You see I know a straight person like yourself.”

“There's a tidy sum on it, my tibby,” said the old woman.

“If there wasn't,” said I bluntly, “do you think I should be wasting my time with you?” I began to grow interested.

“A bit of flimsy,” said she, with a grin.

I stared at her; and in my state of desperation the adventure warmed my spirits; and “On that news,” said I, “I am good for anything.”

The old woman nodded at me, and, glancing about her as though she feared to be overheard, whispered in my ear in her harsh, wheedling voice.

“You will find a cab before the 'Eagle.' You know the old word.”

“I know several,” said I indifferently. “Which?”

“Go to the devil,” she whispered. “Be quick: there's money in time.”

I nodded, and, wheeling about, strode down the street. You will ask why I committed myself in this ridiculous fashion to an unknown and possibly a perilous adventure. But in truth I was now at the end of my patience, and it somehow seemed that I could fare no worse than I had been faring. At least, here was a better business than walking the streets and flying into alleys upon the sight of a policeman. The tavern she had indicated lay a little way down the street, and in front a hansom cab was drawn up, and a smart-coated driver was engaged in pulling at a cigar. I hailed him.

“Engaged, sir,” said the man, without pulling the cigar from his lips.

For a moment I hesitated, and then “Nonsense!” I said sharply. The man cast a glance at me, and I met his gaze fully.

“Engaged,” said he sullenly, and surveying me with lowering brows. I drew back, and quickly an inspiration took me. “Go to the devil,” said I, in a tone of indifference.

“Right, sir,” was the response; after a momentary hesitation, “Jump in.”

I obeyed the invitation, leaping from the kerb, and, leaning back, folded my arms, awaiting with curiosity what should follow. It may have been that the cabman was still uncertain, or that he was merely putting a second test according to his orders; but he opened the spy-hole above. “Where to, sir?” he asked, in the formal tone of his calling.

This time I did not look up. “I have already given you your instructions,” I said. “Oblige me by looking sharp.”

The trap fell, and the horse set off at a smart pace, carrying me to some place of which I was ignorant, and on some mission of which I had not the least idea. Yet by this time, so far from being alarmed I was pleasantly excited, and I sat comfortably in my seat, watching the lights as they swept by, and idly speculating upon the destination to which I was being driven. The cab crossed Westminster Bridge sharply, and came unexpectedly to a pause beyond the Canterbury Music Hall. Here, seeing it was expected of me, I alighted, and stared about me. The cabman leaned over, and winking, but with a mighty grave face, uttered the words, “Carnation—Blue tie.”

His hand went down the street, and I nodded. I had not the least notion what this performance portended, but was quite willing to learn. I buttoned my coat about me, for the rain was falling hard, and walked on. I had not gone thirty paces, before my attention was struck by a second cab. The driver sat cross-legged upon his box, chewed a stick, and displayed a gross and shabby red carnation in his button-hole. I noticed also that his tie was blue.

“Cab,” I called.

“Engaged, sir,” said the man, without looking round.

“Go to the devil,” I suggested pleasantly.

“Right, sir: jump in,” said the cabman, and alertly picked up his reins.

Once inside, I was unable to detect in what direction I was being taken; for the darkness had streamed down with the rain, and the roads were merely lighted puddles. Moreover, the cabman dropped the glass with an apology. “The rain will spoil the velvet, sir,” was his plea.

But I had a sense that I was now somewhere in the more secret and less reputable parts of Lambeth.

Not long after I had come to this conclusion, the cab was pulled up before a mean little shop, which wore the appearance of a shabby bakery. As it seemed I was expected to get down, I did so, and turned my attention at once to the windows of the shop. As I wheeled about, a stout, ill-looking man, clothed in a great-coat and muffled closely in a dirty scarf, looked at me for a second, and then glanced swiftly away into the window. The two of us stood for a space in silence, as if intent upon the dismal contents of the shop. I felt that now the affair was out of my hands, and that it was for some one else to make the next move. Moreover, the rain trickled from the gutters down my neck, and made me very uncomfortable.

“You want the devil?” at last said the dirty man gruffly, and still gazing through the panes.

“I do, my friend,” I answered, and met his eyes squarely.

“You'd best follow me,” murmured the man after a pause, and turned and went into the shop, with me at his heels.

The ill-looking fellow raised a flap in the counter, and pushed open a door beyond. I followed with brisk celerity, satisfied to be out of the dreary rain, and endeavouring to concentrate my wits upon the novel position. Through the house we went, and issued on a stone yard, which in the darkness appeared to my senses to be backed by a low-lying building—no doubt the bakehouse. My guide entered this place, and I followed. Inside, the man paused, and throwing aside his huge, ill-fitting overcoat, discovered his face for the first time. It was not prepossessing, being large of mould and small of feature, and a huge tooth protruded from under his lip.

“Pay in flimsy?” said he, apparently with a question in his voice,

Not having the slightest inkling of the meaning of this, I assented mutely.

The man opened the door of a huge oven, which I now perceived near by. He beckoned me forward, and himself, stooping, scrambled into the capacious cavern, where he stood or sat, his huge head showing indistinctly. For a moment, or rather more than a moment, seeing what was expected of me, I hesitated, and hung in doubt. It was still practicable for. me to make a bolt for the house, and trust to my luck to get through, and into the street. I had no doubt in my mind by this time that this was some hiding-place of criminals, thieves, or worse; and for the first time I felt uneasy. But the hesitation passed, and I stepped forward instantly, and dropped into the oven beside my companion.

“You're the proper kidney,” said he with a grin. “I've seen 'em shiver at this 'ere 'ole, when they wasn't used to it. It does strike you clammy somehow.”

As he ceased speaking he pulled-to the door, and the bottom of the oven seemed to me suddenly to fly from under us. I staggered, but supporting myself against the sides, recognised now that the place must be some sort of lift which was descending. Presently there came a bump, and the man, stepping out of the cage, pushed me roughly along a dark and narrow passage, which was sunk some fifteen feet or more below the surface. A dim light burned ahead, and the walls of that defile smelt damp, and struck a shiver through my body. But soon we entered upon a broad expanse of cellar, in which a candle burned, and which was partly furnished. Farther, a smaller cellar was piled with boxes, and still farther, I was ushered into a dismal, badly-lighted apartment, in the corner of which a man lay stretched upon a bed.

Here my guide paused, and indicated the miserable bed with a crook of his finger.

“He's pretty bad, he is,” he whispered hoarsely; and as he spoke a small, elderly man, with no hair on his face, rose in the twilight by the bed.

“S'elp me, doc.: you've about nicked it,” he said, in a friendly and somewhat oily voice. “Shall I show you the cove?”

Like a flash now it came to me all at once upon what errand I was supposed to come. No doubt the mistake had been made by the old woman, who had taken me for Dr. Roach, from my presence on Roach's threshold. This supposition was suddenly confirmed the next moment. The small man, moving the candle, threw the light upon my face, and started.

“Why, you're not” he began in alarm; but, quick as his thought, I interposed:

“No; he was out. I am his partner. I suppose I will do as well.”

The little man turned and questioned the long fellow with his eyes, and the latter nodded, whispering in a growl: “O.K. He came by Bill and Sam, and got the right pass.”

Apparently content, the little man turned to me.

“The doc. done for me at 'orspital,” he said, with a grin. “He's square,” and turning back the blanket with a movement of his arm, exposed to my eye the chest of the unconscious patient. It was with difficulty that I kept from a cry of horror—the wound was so ugly, and it scarce seemed possible that a human creature could take so evil a hurt and still live. It was to succour this poor wretch, who, for all I knew, was even now fast sinking into the sleep of death, that I had been brought to this underground den. Alas! I had not the remotest knowledge of surgery, and I stood there wavering, with the inquisitive eyes of those two ruffians upon me, helpless, nonplussed, and with a growing sensation of fear. Yet upon the top of all a certain curious pity for that unconscious body took hold of me, and it was probably the peaceful influences of that benign compassion that served me in this desperate emergency.

I turned to the small man. “I had no idea it was so bad,” I said sharply. “Why was not some hint given me? I have not any proper instruments. I must go for them.”

The fellow interrogated his companion with his eyes. “Well,” said he, “that's a pity, ain't it? It mucks us up pretty well. Now, I suppose, he would be pretty bad, wouldn't he?”

“So bad,” I replied decidedly, “that unless I can get my instruments at once, it will be hopeless.”

“Not to be done, governor,” said the big man. “Here you've come, and here you must stay. Bill will do the trick for you.”

I considered; I had not anticipated this, and I had two ruffians to get rid of. “Very well,” I resumed abruptly, and pulling a leaf from my pocket-book, scribbled upon it hastily. What I wrote was this: “You are requested to come with the bearer as speedily as possible. It is a matter of life and death.” I merely doubled the leaf across, and inscribed the address to Dr. Roach.

“Read it if you like,” I said, and handed it to the burly scoundrel, thus making my choice of what had the appearance of being the more dangerous antagonist.

After a glance exchanged with the small man, the messenger left the cellar and the other seated himself in the corner.

“I'd best be sittin' here,” he observed, “and I'd be honoured if you'd take a seat, mister.”

I gazed at him reflectively. If it came to the worst, this was a poor opponent, and might be handled with dexterity; but I was not yet reduced to force. I bent over the patient, and examined the ghastly wound.

“Bring some water,” I said peremptorily.

The small man hesitated.

“Do you hear? Water!” I commanded, in my most emphatic tones.

“Why, o' course, governor,” returned the little ruffian, hitching his trousers together as he rose. “I'll have him in in a jiffy.”

He went out, warily watching me with his keen eyes. It was possible that he suspected something. He moved like a rat—ugly, lean, small, and brown, with the agate eyes of the cockney.

The man upon the bed respired with difficulty; his breath caught, and ceased. I had a horrible suspicion that he was dead. The pallid face and the hideous wound drew my eyes with a terrible fascination.

An abominable stillness prevailed in the room. I looked about me. The room beyond was lighted by a single guttering candle, flickering on the little ruffian's face. Suddenly it toppled over, and, to the accompaniment of a foul oath, went out, and plunged the anterior cellar in darkness.

In an instant I had an inspiration. I blew out the candle by me, and slipped swiftly in the direction of the entrance. Fortunately I struck it, and, groping noiselessly, passed within a yard of the cursing ruffian, who was fumbling in his pocket for matches. I had no notion of what lay beyond, but with my hand upon the damp wall, moved with as great a speed as possible. I heard the noise of matches crackling on a box, and knew that there was but an instant between me and discovery. All at once my foot kicked upon a stone, dully, suddenly. Above was a second stone, and in a flash it came to me that this was a stairway. With my head bent, in order to avoid the low ceiling, I crept up the steps, and reached a stone landing, which was faintly illumined from an open door beyond. As I did so a light flared in the cellar below. There was no time to lose. I precipitated myself into the room, and pulled-to the door. When I had done so, I turned about, and found myself in the presence of a woman.

She was young, of a rich brown colour, her eyes were large and glistening, and her handsome features might have fitted her for a painter's model. Her scarlet bodice struck a high note in that dingy room. She leaned over the remnant of a fire, and stirred in an iron pot; but as the door shut, she started, and gazed at me in some alarm. I took the only course I perceived open to me; I flung myself upon her mercy.

“I beg your pardon,” I said hurriedly: “I have strayed into this place by accident; I am anxious to get out. But there is some one below who is aware of my presence. Can you help me?”

Her swarthy face red with the fire, she looked me up and down with one hand upon her hip.

“What are you doing here?” she asked abruptly.

“I was taken for a doctor to the man below. But I mean you no harm. I have not even the faintest idea what you are, or where this cellar is.”

The woman considered. “You're in a tight place,” she said, with a little laugh. “You bet your life you're sorry you came.”

“Oh, come,” said I, approaching the fire, and letting my eye fall upon her, “I cannot say that. I should never have seen you otherwise.”

She laughed again. “Stow that gab,” she said, but not unamiably. “You can't fetch me.”

“You must see that I am speaking in sincerity,” I urged, “for I could have wrung the neck of that little rat below.”

The woman laughed louder than ever. “Oh, could you?” she cried; “you'd best try. You don't know Billy Bowers. Gawd love yer, what price 'Arry, too? Well, never mind: I like your spunk, and be 'anged to it.”

“I'll tell you what,” said I, fixing her with an admiring glance—for I saw the only chance was to ply boldly—“for two pins, I'd join you.”

“Oh, you would, would you?” she said sarcastically. “Well, perhaps you know what this is,” and she pointed at the pot which was simmering on the fire.

I considered. “I should not be surprised,” I said slowly, “if it is a melting-pot.” I saw a look of wonder, even of fear, start in her face. “You see,” I continued, “if I meant any harm, I would not give myself away.”

She said nothing, but at that moment, with my ears straining for any sounds within the cellars, I caught a noise of voices at the door. I sprang back as it opened, and seizing a poker, waited, determined to fight for it. Two men entered, the little man, followed by a tall, gipsy-looking fellow, who bore some resemblance to the young woman near me.

“Got 'im!” said Billy Bowers triumphantly. “I thought as 'ow he couldn't a' crep' far. Ally allus 'ad a fancy for a 'andsome stranger.”

The tall man took a step towards me, and I lifted my poker.

“You will observe,” I said very coolly, “that I am in some manner prepared for you.”

The gipsy drew a revolver. “You blank fool!” he answered. “Fire-irons don't make a noise down here.”

I hope I did not blink, and there was a short silence while the tall man eyed me. “Who the devil are you,” he asked, “who come masquerading as a doctor?” His accent was good, and he was evidently of superior stuff to his fellow.

“I must own,” said I frankly, “that I was wrong to obtain access in the way I did, but the old woman gave me the chance, and put it into my head. And you will admit,” I added appealingly, “that it would have been more than natural to withstand the temptation.”

“Who are you?” demanded the man in astonishment.

I turned to the woman: something in her brown, shining eyes invited me. “It is not for me to make the confession,” I declared; “but I am not ashamed of it; on the contrary, I am proud of admiring Ally.”

The man turned sharply on his sister, as she seemed to be. “Is this true?” he asked suspiciously,

The girl had opened her mouth and her eyes at my words, but now she was stolid enough. “Why shouldn't it be?” she asked, in a somewhat sullen fashion. “Can't I have a bloke?”

“You have too many,” retorted her brother angrily.

Ally put out her tongue, and winked at me, but I could perceive that she was trembling. Clearly she was in great awe of her brother, and her indifference was feigned. I measured by that the extent my gratitude must assume.

“I will answer for her,” I interposed, “that she shall have no more.”

The man regarded me rather savagely. “We've no room for the likes of you,” he said. “We've got no market for swells, nor has that gal there, as I'll show her.”

“You'll show her nothing of the kind,” I retorted with asperity, handling my poker. “She shall be free to choose—as free as you are. You would make one law for her and another for yourself.”

“That's one for you, Jake,” said Ally saucily, but still shivering. Her fingers trembled on my arm, which she had clutched.

“Hold your tongue,” said Jake fiercely, “you damned creeping Jenny! I've had enough of you and your blokes. I'll have things respectable, or I'll know why. I won't have a trollop dancing about me. You'll have to mizzle, do you hear?”

It was plain that he, in part at any rate, had got over his suspicions, and that his anger was directed upon the head of this offending woman, who had wantonly disgraced his family. The little ruffian called Billy Bowers whispered in his ears, and Jake scowled and nodded. His good-looking face was crossed with sullen fury.

“Leave me alone,” he said sulkily. “I know what to do, don't I?” and turning again to the woman against whom his wrath was directed, “You've got notice to quit, Ally,” he said.

“I am sufficiently a gentleman, sir,” I interposed with austerity, “not to press my attentions where they are unwelcome,” and made a movement, as if in displeasure, towards the door.

I had looked upon this stratagem as desperate in truth, but I had hoped that it might succeed from its very boldness. But, as it happened, Billy Bowers jumped to the door, drawing an ugly knife.

“No, you don't, mister,” said he, grinning. “You don't get out of here, whoever you are, and Ally or no Ally.”

At the words the girl's face darkened with a sudden tide of blood, and seizing the poker, which I had dropped, she darted in a passion at Bowers, and struck at him. Plainly, whatever was her feeling towards her brother, she stood in no terror of his companion. The iron fell on Bowers' shoulder, and he cried out in mingled pain and anger; then he rushed upon her with his knife.

“You devil! would you?” he yelled.

“Steady! Stash it,” called Jake loudly; but Bowers paid no heed. I saw the knife uplifted for an instant, and next moment I shot forward, and delivering a blow between the eyes, sent the little bully like a log to the stone floor. As he fell, a drop of red gleamed on his knife; and Ally fell also. She struggled to a sitting posture, and made an attempt to get up, but unavailingly. “You done it now, you little beast!” she exclaimed, something between jeering and yelling. “Jake, he's done it now.”

Her brother stared. “What the ” he began angrily; but in quick alarm I made an exclamation, and stepping forward leaned over the woman and took her in my arms. She had the appearance of one stricken by a fatal blow.

“The scoundrel's stabbed her,” I cried.

“He's too bloomin' ready with his knife,” growled Jake.

“Man, don't you understand?” I called in excitement. “She's dangerously wounded. Ally, look up, look up!”

The girl's head had fallen, and I raised it gently. To my wonder, in that faint light she seemed to turn an eye on me and wink. Bowers still lay in a heap on the floor. “Get water,” I commanded hastily, dimly perceiving that something was intended, and unconsciously playing the same trick a second time in that abominable cellar of crime. Jake hurried from the room.

“Are you hurt?” I whispered to the girl.

“By God, I like to hear you,” she replied. “I like your voice; I wish you were a bloke of mine. That mean hound has put a gimlet in my arm, but it don't want no water. See here, I've stupefied Jake with this; you mustn't let on. You stood by me, and I like your pluck: now's your chance. They'll never let you go—I know 'em. It's not for nothing we're”—she lowered her voice to a whisper—“by the main drain. Try the cupboard back of the room where the man lies. You'll never manage the oven by yourself. See? Now kiss me. I reckon you're my young man, ain't you?”

I stooped and did so; at the same moment Jake returned, and moodily offered me a ewer of water. Ally sighed, stretched herself and lay still, and I took my cue. I laid her down.

“She's gone,” I said solemnly.

Jake stared, and for the first time a look resembling horror dawned in his face.

“You're a liar,” he said, but without conviction.

“See for yourself,” said I, turning abruptly away. Jake dropped to his knees, and as he did so, I slipped noiselessly from the room. As I passed the body of the man Bowers, I noticed a movement in it, a faint. stirring. But stealing down the stairs I found my way into the chamber where lay the wounded man or corpse, whichever it might be, and, pulling open the big cupboard set in the wall, peered in. The light shone on some brickwork at the back, which I explored with my fingers, and discovered to be loose. The cupboard was ample enough to hold me, and, entering, I pulled the heavy door upon me, shutting myself into the darkness of that infernal vault. Then with my hands I poked among the bricks, removing them one by one. A hole was growing under my efforts, a hole which seemed to let in some damp foul air, but was unillumined by any ray of light. Then noises upon the other side of the door informed me that my flight had been discovered, that the trick had probably been exposed, and that I was followed. With one hand I held on to the heavy door, while with the other I tumbled down the bricks until the opening seemed to me to be large enough to admit my body. I felt the strain of some one pulling at the door, and the sound of voices upon that; no doubt the pursuer had received assistance, and Bowers had come too. No time could be spared. Simultaneously I left my hold upon the door and flung myself forward through the aperture. I fell upon my side, rolled over and struck the ground some three feet lower. The noise of detached masonry falling in water splashed on my ears; a noisome odour pricked my nostrils. Somewhere, far off, as it seemed, was a great rumbling. Creeping to my feet I groped in the darkness, and found my hands touch a wall which arched overhead. As I made this discovery, a light flashed out of the darkness near by and I made out Jake's head. Crouching low under the arching wall, I saw now where I was—for the light gleamed on the rushing water of a narrow channel that reached upon either hand into the infinite darkness. I was in the main drain.

Destruction seemed instant, as Jake's eyes scanned the neighbourhood, and his light flared upon the water. I resolved to run for it rather than be shot down helplessly, for I was sure that those two ruffians would hesitate at nothing in their infuriated state. Starting to my feet, I dashed along the ledge which ran beside the waterway, stooping to keep my head from the archway. A shot whizzed by in a singing wind and a loud explosion filled the channel, but I ran on. Then I heard a voice behind me, and knew that I was still pursued. It crossed my mind that these criminals knew the drain, and that they might be able to overtake me. It was comforting, nevertheless, to reflect that the darkness would prevent their shooting, save in proximity. I was concious of a low and distant roaring somewhere; I increased my pace as much as I dared, but the mere fact of stooping impeded me. Suddenly I heard the noise of feet quite close to me, and I took a sudden resolve. Coming sharply to a stand I set my legs firmly apart and waited for the shock. At this moment the sound I had already noticed had increased, the roaring came down the channel, swollen newly into a great volume, and drowning all other noises. Almost as I noticed this, a body, running at full speed, struck me, tottered in my grasp a moment, and then fell, accompanied with a harsh and terrible cry. It rose for an instant, and then it was drowned in a tumult of sound shouting in the long channel; and with the noise as of a thousand coaches racing in that hollow tube a body of water beat against me, surged almost to my waist, and rolled on. The waters had come down, and the drain was flooded.

I buffeted this way and that, kept my feet, and moved helplessly onwards. I could see nothing, and no sound was audible save that of the water. How long I struggled in this horrible place I know not, but some time later I caught the reflexion of a light in the sinking stream, and, hastening eagerly forward, discovered one of the men employed in the drain, who had descended to make an examination, I rushed to him. “For God's sake get me out of this!” I cried.

The man started, stammered, but seeing, I suppose, this was no time for questions, conducted me to the manhole. I mounted through this, and, once more upon the surface of the earth, breathed in the sweet air and the kindly rain with a great gulp of gratitude. I was hatless; my clothes were dripping with wet, and hung limp upon me, and my face was marked with the stains of my terrible passage.

The man opened his mouth. “How did you get down there, sir?” he asked.

“Oh, for God's sake, let me forget it!” I cried with a shudder, and with a sudden return of consciousness of what I was, I left him and ran swiftly into the darkness.