AMES TORRIE lay down to die. Upcurled, like a starved and frozen hedgehog, on the lee-side of a clump of bushes, where the snow was thinnest, he sullenly, but impatiently, awaited death. Void of food, filled with fear, cold and wet, weak and hopeless, he was desirous only of immediate oblivion. He had not eaten or drunk for nine and twenty hours; for just as long he had not been dry. He had not seen a fire or a smile for many months; for just as long he had not been happy. Yes, there was nothing to be done but to sleep-here, in this lulling cold, here, in this stupefying fog-sleep straight on into forgetfulness and peace.

Through the semi-coagulated air came faintly a muffled sound of bells-joybells-Christmas bells. On the previous night their music and merriment had been interspersed with the surly and sinister. boom of cannon-cannon mounted in the embrasures of the prison across the marsh-cannon fired to inform all good men and true in the far-off town that it behoved them to assist at once in the recapture of a jail-breaking convict.

For a while James Torrie did nothing: he was rendered inert and senseless by an overwhelming stupor. Then, partially recovering, he listened feebly to the remote bells. Soon their message came home, not only to his ear but to his heart. "Peace-upon-earth-and-good-willto-all-men," he slowly muttered. "Well, I suppose I deserve my punishment."

However, he did not feel inclined to give himself up. He resolved to lie there till he was found-found dead.

After a while, James Torrie began to wonder why he was there at all. Then he remembered. Also he remembered the beginnings of his career-his career so merry but so short. Meyrick it was who had led him on. But why had he allowed himself to be led on? Well, he was young-twenty-four; and Meyrick had showed him how to make money without earning it, had showed him how to make money literally. When the crash had come, Meyrick had been taken, and himself left. But not for long. Meyrick had rounded on him, and got him laid by the heels in the same prison. Together they had been placed in the dock; together they had been charged with uttering counterfeit coin. He himself would have escaped on a legal quibble; but once again Meyrick had denounced him. They had been put back for further inquiries. While awaiting the resumption of their trial, he had deliberately turned mutinous. He had been heavily ironed. Once more he had stood in the dock side by side with Meyrick. Together they had been convicted; together they had been sentenced to death. Remembering that Meyrick had betrayed him, remembering that Meyrick had nothing to gain by this treachery except the pleasure of revenge-revenge concerning Daisy Joslin-and remembering why he had purposely got himself ironed, he had sprung upon his elder fellow-sinner in open court, and striven to beat out his brains. He had failed. Even now, when at the point of death, he was sorry-sorry that he had failed.

However, he had marked him-just above the eye. And so, when they came to stand before the Devil, side by side, as they had stood before the judge, the Devil would see at once which of the two deserved the fiercest fire.

Later on, still lying upon the snow in that stupefactive fog and darkness, James Torrie remembered the double respite that had been granted—granted mainly through their counsel's efforts. Then he recalled the commutation of the capital sentence into one of penal servitude for life: that, he knew, meant transportation to the other side of the world. Better death! Yes, that was why he had risked his neck in loosening that rusty bar, and scrambling through that grated window and dropping into that stony courtyard beneath. That was why he had risked being shot down by the armed warders; that was why he had risked the ensuing struggle; that was why he had risked aiming that murderous blow. But he had escaped. And in the thickness and the blackness of the weather and the hour, he had contrived to elude capture; and he had contrived to elude capture all that night and all the next day.

He had skulked behind trees; he had lain in ditches; he had crawled upon allfours like the hunted animal that he was. He had stood stock-still; he had galloped madly. He had lurched and staggered, panted and sobbed; he had suffered tortures from cramp, and held his breath to the edge of vertigo. He had been stung by nettles, pierced by thorns, cut by stones. He had sweated and shivered; he had felt hot as fire and cold as ice, dry as dust and wet as water. He had hungered; he had thirsted. He had been caressed by Hope, and cheated; he had fought with Fear, and lost; he had rallied his courage, only to enhance the bitterness of his tastes of terror; he had discovered avenues of escape, only to find them guarded by the searching soldiers. . . . Racked by rage, panic, hysteria; torn by wounds, weariness, discomfort; beaten by want of food and drink and sleep-small wonder that James Torrie now wished only

to die.

II.

Well, Doctor Angrove, I've bin an' brought it."

"Brought what? You obscene nightbird!"

'Wot yer asked me for, er course!" "Yes I remember! Bring it in."

Doctor Angrove turned from the door and moved back into the passage. Shading the candle with his hand, he waited. The man with whom he had been talking waddled away into the darkness. In a few minutes that man returned. This time he burden was staggering beneath a burden that, in addition to being heavy, was long, bulky, and rigid; also it was wrapped in a sheet.

a

"I brought this 'ere fing on a 'andcart," whispered the waddler and staggerer. "An' I left it lyin' at roost in the shadder o' them there trees. You know, Doctor, just a-nigh the foot o' your garding. It comes inter my 'ead-some'ow-that it wouldn't be quite the right sort o' fing ter fly gallopin' up wiv ter the front entrance— say, on er coach an' four, at ten o'clock in the mornin'. So yer see, that's why I creeps roun' ter the side gate wiv this puty fing-on er 'and-cart-about nighttimes."

"Perhaps," said his impatient hearermore than listener, "you did all this because I told you to."

"Right you are, Doctor! Only don't be nasty!... 'Ere's a wery puty fing, an' a wery puty fing, an' wot's ter be done wiv this wery puty fing?

"Lay it on the table!" commanded Angrove.

Then,

The man did as he was told. taking off his cap, and stepping a few paces from his ex-burden, and shifting his weight uneasily from his right foot to his left, and from his left to his right, he gazed round at the bare walls of the vaultlike chamber. Afterwards, he looked at the ceiling and the floor; in short, anywhere but at the doctor and the corpse.

"Well," he inquired, "wot are yer goin' ter give me?"

"What I said I would! Monkeymemory!'

"Ten guineas?"