And then, directing the servants to place one of the carriages at
the young gentleman's disposal, and at once to charge the Saratoga
trunk upon the dickey, the Colonel shook hands and excused himself
on account of his occupations in the princely household.

Silas now broke the seal of the envelope containing the address,
and directed the stately footman to drive him to Box Court, opening
off the Strand.  It seemed as if the place were not at all unknown
to the man, for he looked startled and begged a repetition of the
order.  It was with a heart full of alarms, that Silas mounted into
the luxurious vehicle, and was driven to his destination.  The
entrance to Box Court was too narrow for the passage of a coach; it
was a mere footway between railings, with a post at either end.  On
one of these posts was seated a man, who at once jumped down and
exchanged a friendly sign with the driver, while the footman opened
the door and inquired of Silas whether he should take down the
Saratoga trunk, and to what number it should be carried.

"If you please," said Silas.  "To number three."

The footman and the man who had been sitting on the post, even with
the aid of Silas himself, had hard work to carry in the trunk; and
before it was deposited at the door of the house in question, the
young American was horrified to find a score of loiterers looking
on.  But he knocked with as good a countenance as he could muster
up, and presented the other envelope to him who opened.

"He is not at home," said he, "but if you will leave your letter
and return to-morrow early, I shall be able to inform you whether
and when he can receive your visit.  Would you like to leave your
box?" he added.

"Dearly," cried Silas; and the next moment he repented his
precipitation, and declared, with equal emphasis, that he would
rather carry the box along with him to the hotel.

The crowd jeered at his indecision and followed him to the carriage
with insulting remarks; and Silas, covered with shame and terror,
implored the servants to conduct him to some quiet and comfortable
house of entertainment in the immediate neighbourhood.

The Prince's equipage deposited Silas at the Craven Hotel in Craven
Street, and immediately drove away, leaving him alone with the
servants of the inn.  The only vacant room, it appeared, was a
little den up four pairs of stairs, and looking towards the back.
To this hermitage, with infinite trouble and complaint, a pair of
stout porters carried the Saratoga trunk.  It is needless to
mention that Silas kept closely at their heels throughout the
ascent, and had his heart in his mouth at every corner.  A single
false step, he reflected, and the box might go over the banisters
and land its fatal contents, plainly discovered, on the pavement of
the hall.

Arrived in the room, he sat down on the edge of his bed to recover
from the agony that he had just endured; but he had hardly taken
his position when he was recalled to a sense of his peril by the
action of the boots, who had knelt beside the trunk, and was
proceeding officiously to undo its elaborate fastenings.

"Let it be!" cried Silas.  "I shall want nothing from it while I
stay here."

"You might have let it lie in the hall, then," growled the man; "a
thing as big and heavy as a church.  What you have inside I cannot
fancy.  If it is all money, you are a richer man than me."

"Money?" repeated Silas, in a sudden perturbation.  "What do you
mean by money?  I have no money, and you are speaking like a fool."

"All right, captain," retorted the boots with a wink.  "There's
nobody will touch your lordship's money.  I'm as safe as the bank,"
he added; "but as the box is heavy, I shouldn't mind drinking
something to your lordship's health."

Silas pressed two Napoleons upon his acceptance, apologising, at
the same time, for being obliged to trouble him with foreign money,
and pleading his recent arrival for excuse.  And the man, grumbling
with even greater fervour, and looking contemptuously from the
money in his hand to the Saratoga trunk and back again from the one
to the other, at last consented to withdraw.

For nearly two days the dead body had been packed into Silas's box;
and as soon as he was alone the unfortunate New-Englander nosed all
the cracks and openings with the most passionate attention.  But
the weather was cool, and the trunk still managed to contain his
shocking secret.

He took a chair beside it, and buried his face in his hands, and
his mind in the most profound reflection.  If he were not speedily
relieved, no question but he must be speedily discovered.  Alone in
a strange city, without friends or accomplices, if the Doctor's
introduction failed him, he was indubitably a lost New-Englander.
He reflected pathetically over his ambitious designs for the
future; he should not now become the hero and spokesman of his
native place of Bangor, Maine; he should not, as he had fondly
anticipated, move on from office to office, from honour to honour;
he might as well divest himself at once of all hope of being
acclaimed President of the United States, and leaving behind him a
statue, in the worst possible style of art, to adorn the Capitol at
Washington.  Here he was, chained to a dead Englishman doubled up
inside a Saratoga trunk; whom he must get rid of, or perish from
the rolls of national glory!

I should be afraid to chronicle the language employed by this young
man to the Doctor, to the murdered man, to Madame Zephyrine, to the
boots of the hotel, to the Prince's servants, and, in a word, to
all who had been ever so remotely connected with his horrible
misfortune.

He slunk down to dinner about seven at night; but the yellow
coffee-room appalled him, the eyes of the other diners seemed to
rest on his with suspicion, and his mind remained upstairs with the
Saratoga trunk.  When the waiter came to offer him cheese, his
nerves were already so much on edge that he leaped half-way out of
his chair and upset the remainder of a pint of ale upon the table-
cloth.

The fellow offered to show him to the smoking-room when he had
done; and although he would have much preferred to return at once
to his perilous treasure, he had not the courage to refuse, and was
shown downstairs to the black, gas-lit cellar, which formed, and
possibly still forms, the divan of the Craven Hotel.

Two very sad betting men were playing billiards, attended by a
moist, consumptive marker; and for the moment Silas imagined that
these were the only occupants of the apartment.  But at the next
glance his eye fell upon a person smoking in the farthest corner,
with lowered eyes and a most respectable and modest aspect.  He
knew at once that he had seen the face before; and, in spite of the
entire change of clothes, recognised the man whom he had found
seated on a post at the entrance to Box Court, and who had helped
him to carry the trunk to and from the carriage.  The New-Englander
simply turned and ran, nor did he pause until he had locked and
bolted himself into his bedroom.

There, all night long, a prey to the most terrible imaginations, he
watched beside the fatal boxful of dead flesh.  The suggestion of
the boots that his trunk was full of gold inspired him with all
manner of new terrors, if he so much as dared to close an eye; and
the presence in the smoking-room, and under an obvious disguise, of
the loiterer from Box Court convinced him that he was once more the
centre of obscure machinations.

Midnight had sounded some time, when, impelled by uneasy
suspicions, Silas opened his bedroom door and peered into the
passage.  It was dimly illuminated by a single jet of gas; and some
distance off he perceived a man sleeping on the floor in the
costume of an hotel under-servant.  Silas drew near the man on
tiptoe.  He lay partly on his back, partly on his side, and his
right forearm concealed his face from recognition.  Suddenly, while
the American was still bending over him, the sleeper removed his
arm and opened his eyes, and Silas found himself once more face to
face with the loiterer of Box Court.

"Good-night, sir," said the man, pleasantly.

But Silas was too profoundly moved to find an answer, and regained
his room in silence.

Towards morning, worn out by apprehension, he fell asleep on his
chair, with his head forward on the trunk.  In spite of so
constrained an attitude and such a grisly pillow, his slumber was
sound and prolonged, and he was only awakened at a late hour and by
a sharp tapping at the door.

He hurried to open, and found the boots without.

"You are the gentleman who called yesterday at Box Court?" he
asked.

Silas, with a quaver, admitted that he had done so.

"Then this note is for you," added the servant, proffering a sealed
envelope.

Silas tore it open, and found inside the words:  "Twelve o'clock."

He was punctual to the hour; the trunk was carried before him by
several stout servants; and he was himself ushered into a room,
where a man sat warming himself before the fire with his back
towards the door.  The sound of so many persons entering and
leaving, and the scraping of the trunk as it was deposited upon the
bare boards, were alike unable to attract the notice of the
occupant; and Silas stood waiting, in an agony of fear, until he
should deign to recognise his presence.

Perhaps five minutes had elapsed before the man turned leisurely
about, and disclosed the features of Prince Florizel of Bohemia.

"So, sir," he said, with great severity, "this is the manner in
which you abuse my politeness.  You join yourselves to persons of
condition, I perceive, for no other purpose than to escape the
consequences of your crimes; and I can readily understand your
embarrassment when I addressed myself to you yesterday."

"Indeed," cried Silas, "I am innocent of everything except
misfortune."

And in a hurried voice, and with the greatest ingenuousness, he
recounted to the Prince the whole history of his calamity.

"I see I have been mistaken," said his Highness, when he had heard
him to an end.  "You are no other than a victim, and since I am not
to punish you may be sure I shall do my utmost to help.  And now,"
he continued, "to business.  Open your box at once, and let me see
what it contains."

Silas changed colour.

"I almost fear to look upon it," he exclaimed.

"Nay," replied the Prince, "have you not looked at it already?
This is a form of sentimentality to be resisted.  The sight of a
sick man, whom we can still help, should appeal more directly to
the feelings than that of a dead man who is equally beyond help or
harm, love or hatred.  Nerve yourself, Mr. Scuddamore," and then,
seeing that Silas still hesitated, "I do not desire to give another
name to my request," he added.

The young American awoke as if out of a dream, and with a shiver of
repugnance addressed himself to loose the straps and open the lock
of the Saratoga trunk.  The Prince stood by, watching with a
composed countenance and his hands behind his back.  The body was
quite stiff, and it cost Silas a great effort, both moral and
physical, to dislodge it from its position, and discover the face.

Prince Florizel started back with an exclamation of painful
surprise.

"Alas!" he cried, "you little know, Mr. Scuddamore, what a cruel
gift you have brought me.  This is a young man of my own suite, the
brother of my trusted friend; and it was upon matters of my own
service that he has thus perished at the hands of violent and
treacherous men.  Poor Geraldine," he went on, as if to himself,
"in what words am I to tell you of your brother's fate?  How can I
excuse myself in your eyes, or in the eyes of God, for the
presumptuous schemes that led him to this bloody and unnatural
death?  Ah, Florizel! Florizel! when will you learn the discretion
that suits mortal life, and be no longer dazzled with the image of
power at your disposal?  Power!" he cried; "who is more powerless?
I look upon this young man whom I have sacrificed, Mr. Scuddamore,
and feel how small a thing it is to be a Prince."

Silas was moved at the sight of his emotion.  He tried to murmur
some consolatory words, and burst into tears.

The Prince, touched by his obvious intention, came up to him and
took him by the hand.

"Command yourself," said he.  "We have both much to learn, and we
shall both be better men for to-day's meeting."

Silas thanked him in silence with an affectionate look.

"Write me the address of Doctor Noel on this piece of paper,"
continued the Prince, leading him towards the table; "and let me
recommend you, when you are again in Paris, to avoid the society of
that dangerous man.  He has acted in this matter on a generous
inspiration; that I must believe; had he been privy to young
Geraldine's death he would never have despatched the body to the
care of the actual criminal."

"The actual criminal!" repeated Silas in astonishment.

"Even so," returned the Prince.  "This letter, which the
disposition of Almighty Providence has so strangely delivered into
my hands, was addressed to no less a person than the criminal
himself, the infamous President of the Suicide Club.  Seek to pry
no further in these perilous affairs, but content yourself with
your own miraculous escape, and leave this house at once.  I have
pressing affairs, and must arrange at once about this poor clay,
which was so lately a gallant and handsome youth."

Silas took a grateful and submissive leave of Prince Florizel, but
he lingered in Box Court until he saw him depart in a splendid
carriage on a visit to Colonel Henderson of the police.  Republican
as he was, the young American took off his hat with almost a
sentiment of devotion to the retreating carriage.  And the same
night he started by rail on his return to Paris.


Here (observes my Arabian author) is the end of THE HISTORY OF THE
PHYSICIAN AND THE SARATOGA TRUNK.  Omitting some reflections on the
power of Providence, highly pertinent in the original, but little
suited to our occiddental taste, I shall only add that Mr.
Scuddamore has already begun to mount the ladder of political fame,
and by last advices was the Sheriff of his native town.



THE ADVENTURE OF THE HANSOM CABS



Lieutenant Brackenbury Rich had greatly distinguished himself in
one of the lesser Indian hill wars.  He it was who took the
chieftain prisoner with his own hand; his gallantry was universally
applauded; and when he came home, prostrated by an ugly sabre cut
and a protracted jungle fever, society was prepared to welcome the
Lieutenant as a celebrity of minor lustre.  But his was a character
remarkable for unaffected modesty; adventure was dear to his heart,
but he cared little for adulation; and he waited at foreign
watering-places and in Algiers until the fame of his exploits had
run through its nine days' vitality and begun to be forgotten.  He
arrived in London at last, in the early season, with as little
observation as he could desire; and as he was an orphan and had
none but distant relatives who lived in the provinces, it was
almost as a foreigner that he installed himself in the capital of
the country for which he had shed his blood.

On the day following his arrival he dined alone at a military club.
He shook hands with a few old comrades, and received their warm
congratulations; but as one and all had some engagement for the
evening, he found himself left entirely to his own resources.  He
was in dress, for he had entertained the notion of visiting a
theatre.  But the great city was new to him; he had gone from a
provincial school to a military college, and thence direct to the
Eastern Empire; and he promised himself a variety of delights in
this world for exploration.  Swinging his cane, he took his way
westward.  It was a mild evening, already dark, and now and then
threatening rain.  The succession of faces in the lamplight stirred
the Lieutenant's imagination; and it seemed to him as if he could
walk for ever in that stimulating city atmosphere and surrounded by
the mystery of four million private lives.  He glanced at the
houses, and marvelled what was passing behind those warmly-lighted
windows; he looked into face after face, and saw them each intent
upon some unknown interest, criminal or kindly.

"They talk of war," he thought, "but this is the great battlefield
of mankind."

And then he began to wonder that he should walk so long in this
complicated scene, and not chance upon so much as the shadow of an
adventure for himself.

"All in good time," he reflected.  "I am still a stranger, and
perhaps wear a strange air.  But I must be drawn into the eddy
before long."

The night was already well advanced when a plump of cold rain fell
suddenly out of the darkness.  Brackenbury paused under some trees,
and as he did so he caught sight of a hansom cabman making him a
sign that he was disengaged.  The circumstance fell in so happily
to the occasion that he at once raised his cane in answer, and had
soon ensconced himself in the London gondola.

"Where to, sir?" asked the driver.

"Where you please," said Brackenbury.

And immediately, at a pace of surprising swiftness, the hansom
drove off through the rain into a maze of villas.  One villa was so
like another, each with its front garden, and there was so little
to distinguish the deserted lamp-lit streets and crescents through
which the flying hansom took its way, that Brackenbury soon lost
all idea of direction.

He would have been tempted to believe that the cabman was amusing
himself by driving him round and round and in and out about a small
quarter, but there was something business-like in the speed which
convinced him of the contrary.  The man had an object in view, he
was hastening towards a definite end; and Brackenbury was at once
astonished at the fellow's skill in picking a way through such a
labyrinth, and a little concerned to imagine what was the occasion
of his hurry.  He had heard tales of strangers falling ill in
London.  Did the driver belong to some bloody and treacherous
association? and was he himself being whirled to a murderous death?

The thought had scarcely presented itself, when the cab swung
sharply round a corner and pulled up before the garden gate of a
villa in a long and wide road.  The house was brilliantly lighted
up.  Another hansom had just driven away, and Brackenbury could see
a gentleman being admitted at the front door and received by
several liveried servants.  He was surprised that the cabman should
have stopped so immediately in front of a house where a reception
was being held; but he did not doubt it was the result of accident,
and sat placidly smoking where he was, until he heard the trap
thrown open over his head.

"Here we are, sir," said the driver.

"Here!" repeated Brackenbury.  "Where?"

"You told me to take you where I pleased, sir," returned the man
with a chuckle, "and here we are."

It struck Brackenbury that the voice was wonderfully smooth and
courteous for a man in so inferior a position; he remembered the
speed at which he had been driven; and now it occurred to him that
the hansom was more luxuriously appointed than the common run of
public conveyances.

"I must ask you to explain," said he.  "Do you mean to turn me out
into the rain?  My good man, I suspect the choice is mine."

"The choice is certainly yours," replied the driver; "but when I
tell you all, I believe I know how a gentleman of your figure will
decide.  There is a gentlemen's party in this house.  I do not know
whether the master be a stranger to London and without
acquaintances of his own; or whether he is a man of odd notions.
But certainly I was hired to kidnap single gentlemen in evening
dress, as many as I pleased, but military officers by preference.
You have simply to go in and say that Mr. Morris invited you."

"Are you Mr. Morris?" inquired the Lieutenant.

"Oh, no," replied the cabman.  "Mr. Morris is the person of the
house."

"It is not a common way of collecting guests," said Brackenbury:
"but an eccentric man might very well indulge the whim without any
intention to offend.  And suppose that I refuse Mr. Morris's
invitation," he went on, "what then?"

"My orders are to drive you back where I took you from," replied
the man, "and set out to look for others up to midnight.  Those who
have no fancy for such an adventure, Mr. Morris said, were not the
guests for him."

These words decided the Lieutenant on the spot.

"After all," he reflected, as he descended from the hansom, "I have
not had long to wait for my adventure."

He had hardly found footing on the side-walk, and was still feeling
in his pocket for the fare, when the cab swung about and drove off
by the way it came at the former break-neck velocity.  Brackenbury
shouted after the man, who paid no heed, and continued to drive
away; but the sound of his voice was overheard in the house, the
door was again thrown open, emitting a flood of light upon the
garden, and a servant ran down to meet him holding an umbrella.

"The cabman has been paid," observed the servant in a very civil
tone; and he proceeded to escort Brackenbury along the path and up
the steps.  In the hall several other attendants relieved him of
his hat, cane, and paletot, gave him a ticket with a number in
return, and politely hurried him up a stair adorned with tropical
flowers, to the door of an apartment on the first storey.  Here a
grave butler inquired his name, and announcing "Lieutenant
Brackenbury Rich," ushered him into the drawing-room of the house.

A young man, slender and singularly handsome, came forward and
greeted him with an air at once courtly and affectionate.  Hundreds
of candles, of the finest wax, lit up a room that was perfumed,
like the staircase, with a profusion of rare and beautiful
flowering shrubs.  A side-table was loaded with tempting viands.
Several servants went to and fro with fruits and goblets of
champagne.  The company was perhaps sixteen in number, all men, few
beyond the prime of life, and with hardly an exception, of a
dashing and capable exterior.  They were divided into two groups,
one about a roulette board, and the other surrounding a table at
which one of their number held a bank of baccarat.

"I see," thought Brackenbury, "I am in a private gambling saloon,
and the cabman was a tout."

His eye had embraced the details, and his mind formed the
conclusion, while his host was still holding him by the hand; and
to him his looks returned from this rapid survey.  At a second view
Mr. Morris surprised him still more than on the first.  The easy
elegance of his manners, the distinction, amiability, and courage
that appeared upon his features, fitted very ill with the
Lieutenant's preconceptions on the subject of the proprietor of a
hell; and the tone of his conversation seemed to mark him out for a
man of position and merit.  Brackenbury found he had an instinctive
liking for his entertainer; and though he chid himself for the
weakness, he was unable to resist a sort of friendly attraction for
Mr. Morris's person and character.

"I have heard of you, Lieutenant Rich," said Mr. Morris, lowering
his tone; "and believe me I am gratified to make your acquaintance.
Your looks accord with the reputation that has preceded you from
India.  And if you will forget for a while the irregularity of your
presentation in my house, I shall feel it not only an honour, but a
genuine pleasure besides.  A man who makes a mouthful of barbarian
cavaliers," he added with a laugh, "should not be appalled by a
breach of etiquette, however serious."

And he led him towards the sideboard and pressed him to partake of
some refreshment.

"Upon my word," the Lieutenant reflected, "this is one of the
pleasantest fellows and, I do not doubt, one of the most agreeable
societies in London."

He partook of some champagne, which he found excellent; and
observing that many of the company were already smoking, he lit one
of his own Manillas, and strolled up to the roulette board, where
he sometimes made a stake and sometimes looked on smilingly on the
fortune of others.  It was while he was thus idling that he became
aware of a sharp scrutiny to which the whole of the guests were
subjected.  Mr. Morris went here and there, ostensibly busied on
hospitable concerns; but he had ever a shrewd glance at disposal;
not a man of the party escaped his sudden, searching looks; he took
stock of the bearing of heavy losers, he valued the amount of the
stakes, he paused behind couples who were deep in conversation;
and, in a word, there was hardly a characteristic of any one
present but he seemed to catch and make a note of it.  Brackenbury
began to wonder if this were indeed a gambling hell:  it had so
much the air of a private inquisition.  He followed Mr. Morris in
all his movements; and although the man had a ready smile, he
seemed to perceive, as it were under a mask, a haggard, careworn,
and preoccupied spirit.  The fellows around him laughed and made
their game; but Brackenbury had lost interest in the guests.

"This Morris," thought he, "is no idler in the room.  Some deep
purpose inspires him; let it be mine to fathom it."

Now and then Mr. Morris would call one of his visitors aside; and
after a brief colloquy in an ante-room, he would return alone, and
the visitors in question reappeared no more.  After a certain
number of repetitions, this performance excited Brackenbury's
curiosity to a high degree.  He determined to be at the bottom of
this minor mystery at once; and strolling into the ante-room, found
a deep window recess concealed by curtains of the fashionable
green.  Here he hurriedly ensconced himself; nor had he to wait
long before the sound of steps and voices drew near him from the
principal apartment.  Peering through the division, he saw Mr.
Morris escorting a fat and ruddy personage, with somewhat the look
of a commercial traveller, whom Brackenbury had already remarked
for his coarse laugh and under-bred behaviour at the table.  The
pair halted immediately before the window, so that Brackenbury lost
not a word of the following discourse:-

"I beg you a thousand pardons!" began Mr. Morris, with the most
conciliatory manner; "and, if I appear rude, I am sure you will
readily forgive me.  In a place so great as London accidents must
continually happen; and the best that we can hope is to remedy them
with as small delay as possible.  I will not deny that I fear you
have made a mistake and honoured my poor house by inadvertence;
for, to speak openly, I cannot at all remember your appearance.
Let me put the question without unnecessary circumlocution -
between gentlemen of honour a word will suffice - Under whose roof
do you suppose yourself to be?"

"That of Mr. Morris," replied the other, with a prodigious display
of confusion, which had been visibly growing upon him throughout
the last few words.

"Mr. John or Mr. James Morris?" inquired the host.

"I really cannot tell you," returned the unfortunate guest.  "I am
not personally acquainted with the gentleman, any more than I am
with yourself."

"I see," said Mr. Morris.  "There is another person of the same
name farther down the street; and I have no doubt the policeman
will be able to supply you with his number.  Believe me, I
felicitate myself on the misunderstanding which has procured me the
pleasure of your company for so long; and let me express a hope
that we may meet again upon a more regular footing.  Meantime, I
would not for the world detain you longer from your friends.
John," he added, raising his voice, "will you see that this
gentleman finds his great-coat?"

And with the most agreeable air Mr. Morris escorted his visitor as
far as the ante-room door, where he left him under conduct of the
butler.  As he passed the window, on his return to the drawing-
room, Brackenbury could hear him utter a profound sigh, as though
his mind was loaded with a great anxiety, and his nerves already
fatigued with the task on which he was engaged.

For perhaps an hour the hansoms kept arriving with such frequency,
that Mr. Morris had to receive a new guest for every old one that
he sent away, and the company preserved its number undiminished.
But towards the end of that time the arrivals grew few and far
between, and at length ceased entirely, while the process of
elimination was continued with unimpaired activity.  The drawing-
room began to look empty:  the baccarat was discontinued for lack
of a banker; more than one person said good-night of his own
accord, and was suffered to depart without expostulation; and in
the meanwhile Mr. Morris redoubled in agreeable attentions to those
who stayed behind.  He went from group to group and from person to
person with looks of the readiest sympathy and the most pertinent
and pleasing talk; he was not so much like a host as like a
hostess, and there was a feminine coquetry and condescension in his
manner which charmed the hearts of all.

As the guests grew thinner, Lieutenant Rich strolled for a moment
out of the drawing-room into the hall in quest of fresher air.  But
he had no sooner passed the threshold of the ante-chamber than he
was brought to a dead halt by a discovery of the most surprising
nature.  The flowering shrubs had disappeared from the staircase;
three large furniture waggons stood before the garden gate; the
servants were busy dismantling the house upon all sides; and some
of them had already donned their great-coats and were preparing to
depart.  It was like the end of a country ball, where everything
has been supplied by contract.  Brackenbury had indeed some matter
for reflection.  First, the guests, who were no real guests after
all, had been dismissed; and now the servants, who could hardly be
genuine servants, were actively dispersing.

'"Was the whole establishment a sham?" he asked himself.  "The
mushroom of a single night which should disappear before morning?"

Watching a favourable opportunity, Brackenbury dashed upstairs to
the highest regions of the house.  It was as he had expected.  He
ran from room to room, and saw not a stick of furniture nor so much
as a picture on the walls.  Although the house had been painted and
papered, it was not only uninhabited at present, but plainly had
never been inhabited at all.  The young officer remembered with
astonishment its specious, settled, and hospitable air on his
arrival

It was only at a prodigious cost that the imposture could have been
carried out upon so great a scale.

Who, then, was Mr. Morris?  What was his intention in thus playing
the householder for a single night in the remote west of London?
And why did he collect his visitors at hazard from the streets?

Brackenbury remembered that he had already delayed too long, and
hastened to join the company.  Many had left during his absence;
and counting the Lieutenant and his host, there were not more than
five persons in the drawing-room - recently so thronged.  Mr.
Morris greeted him, as he re-entered the apartment, with a smile,
and immediately rose to his feet.

"It is now time, gentlemen," said he, "to explain my purpose in
decoying you from your amusements.  I trust you did not find the
evening hang very dully on your hands; but my object, I will
confess it, was not to entertain your leisure, but to help myself
in an unfortunate necessity.  You are all gentlemen," he continued,
"your appearance does you that much justice, and I ask for no
better security.  Hence, I speak it without concealment, I ask you
to render me a dangerous and delicate service; dangerous because
you may run the hazard of your lives, and delicate because I must
ask an absolute discretion upon all that you shall see or hear.
From an utter stranger the request is almost comically extravagant;
I am well aware of this; and I would add at once, if there be any
one present who has heard enough, if there be one among the party
who recoils from a dangerous confidence and a piece of Quixotic
devotion to he knows not whom - here is my hand ready, and I shall
wish him good-night and God-speed with all the sincerity in the
world."

A very tall, black man, with a heavy stoop, immediately responded
to this appeal.

"I commend your frankness, Sir," said he; "and, for my part, I go.
I make no reflections; but I cannot deny that you fill me with
suspicious thoughts.  I go myself, as I say; and perhaps you will
think I have no right to add words to my example."

"On the contrary," replied Mr. Morris, "I am obliged to you for all
you say.  It would be impossible to exaggerate the gravity of my
proposal."

"Well, gentlemen, what do you say?" said the tall man, addressing
the others.  "We have had our evening's frolic; shall we all go
homeward peaceably in a body?  You will think well of my suggestion
in the morning, when you see the sun again in innocence and
safety."

The speaker pronounced the last words with an intonation which
added to their force; and his face wore a singular expression, full
of gravity and significance.  Another of the company rose hastily,
and, with some appearance of alarm, prepared to take his leave.
There were only two who held their ground, Brackenbury and an old
red-nosed cavalry Major; but these two preserved a nonchalant
demeanour, and, beyond a look of intelligence which they rapidly
exchanged, appeared entirely foreign to the discussion that had
just been terminated.

Mr. Morris conducted the deserters as far as the door, which he
closed upon their heels; then he turned round, disclosing a
countenance of mingled relief and animation, and addressed the two
officers as follows.

"I have chosen my men like Joshua in the Bible," said Mr. Morris,
"and I now believe I have the pick of London.  Your appearance
pleased my hansom cabmen; then it delighted me; I have watched your
behaviour in a strange company, and under the most unusual
circumstances:  I have studied how you played and how you bore your
losses; lastly, I have put you to the test of a staggering
announcement, and you received it like an invitation to dinner.  It
is not for nothing," he cried, "that I have been for years the
companion and the pupil of the bravest and wisest potentate in
Europe."

"At the affair of Bunderchang," observed the Major, "I asked for
twelve volunteers, and every trooper in the ranks replied to my
appeal.  But a gaming party is not the same thing as a regiment
under fire.  You may be pleased, I suppose, to have found two, and
two who will not fail you at a push.  As for the pair who ran away,
I count them among the most pitiful hounds I ever met with.
Lieutenant Rich," he added, addressing Brackenbury, "I have heard
much of you of late; and I cannot doubt but you have also heard of
me.  I am Major O'Rooke."

And the veteran tendered his hand, which was red and tremulous, to
the young Lieutenant.

"Who has not?" answered Brackenbury.

"When this little matter is settled," said Mr. Morris, "you will
think I have sufficiently rewarded you; for I could offer neither a
more valuable service than to make him acquainted with the other."

"And now," said Major O'Rooke, "is it a duel?"

"A duel after a fashion," replied Mr. Morris, "a duel with unknown
and dangerous enemies, and, as I gravely fear, a duel to the death.
I must ask you," he continued, "to call me Morris no longer; call
me, if you please, Hammersmith; my real name, as well as that of
another person to whom I hope to present you before long, you will
gratify me by not asking and not seeking to discover for
yourselves.  Three days ago the person of whom I speak disappeared
suddenly from home; and, until this morning, I received no hint of
his situation.  You will fancy my alarm when I tell you that he is
engaged upon a work of private justice.  Bound by an unhappy oath,
too lightly sworn, he finds it necessary, without the help of law,
to rid the earth of an insidious and bloody villain.  Already two
of our friends, and one of them my own born brother, have perished
in the enterprise.  He himself, or I am much deceived, is taken in
the same fatal toils.  But at least he still lives and still hopes,
as this billet sufficiently proves."

And the speaker, no other than Colonel Geraldine, proffered a
letter, thus conceived:-


"Major Hammersmith, - On Wednesday, at 3 A.M., you will be admitted
by the small door to the gardens of Rochester House, Regent's Park,
by a man who is entirely in my interest.  I must request you not to
fail me by a second.  Pray bring my case of swords, and, if you can
find them, one or two gentlemen of conduct and discretion to whom
my person is unknown.  My name must not be used in this affair.

T. GODALL."


"From his wisdom alone, if he had no other title," pursued Colonel
Geraldine, when the others had each satisfied his curiosity, "my
friend is a man whose directions should implicitly be followed.  I
need not tell you, therefore, that I have not so much as visited
the neighbourhood of Rochester House; and that I am still as wholly
in the dark as either of yourselves as to the nature of my friend's
dilemma.  I betook myself, as soon as I had received this order, to
a furnishing contractor, and, in a few hours, the house in which we
now are had assumed its late air of festival.  My scheme was at
least original; and I am far from regretting an action which has
procured me the services of Major O'Rooke and Lieutenant
Brackenbury Rich.  But the servants in the street will have a
strange awakening.  The house which this evening was full of lights
and visitors they will find uninhabited and for sale to-morrow
morning.  Thus even the most serious concerns," added the Colonel,
"have a merry side."

"And let us add a merry ending," said Brackenbury.

The Colonel consulted his watch.

"It is now hard on two," he said.  "We have an hour before us, and
a swift cab is at the door.  Tell me if I may count upon your
help."

"During a long life," replied Major O'Rooke, "I never took back my
hand from anything, nor so much as hedged a bet."

Brackenbury signified his readiness in the most becoming terms; and
after they had drunk a glass or two of wine, the Colonel gave each
of them a loaded revolver, and the three mounted into the cab and
drove off for the address in question.

Rochester House was a magnificent residence on the banks of the
canal.  The large extent of the garden isolated it in an unusual
degree from the annoyances of neighbourhood.  It seemed the PARC
AUX CERFS of some great nobleman or millionaire.  As far as could
be seen from the street, there was not a glimmer of light in any of
the numerous windows of the mansion; and the place had a look of
neglect, as though the master had been long from home.

The cab was discharged, and the three gentlemen were not long in
discovering the small door, which was a sort of postern in a lane
between two garden walls.  It still wanted ten or fifteen minutes
of the appointed time; the rain fell heavily, and the adventurers
sheltered themselves below some pendant ivy, and spoke in low tones
of the approaching trial.

Suddenly Geraldine raised his finger to command silence, and all
three bent their hearing to the utmost.  Through the continuous
noise of the rain, the steps and voices of two men became audible
from the other side of the wall; and, as they drew nearer,
Brackenbury, whose sense of hearing was remarkably acute, could
even distinguish some fragments of their talk.

"Is the grave dug?" asked one.

"It is," replied the other; "behind the laurel hedge.  When the job
is done, we can cover it with a pile of stakes."

The first speaker laughed, and the sound of his merriment was
shocking to the listeners on the other side.

"In an hour from now," he said.

And by the sound of the steps it was obvious that the pair had
separated, and were proceeding in contrary directions.

Almost immediately after the postern door was cautiously opened, a
white face was protruded into the lane, and a hand was seen
beckoning to the watchers.  In dead silence the three passed the
door, which was immediately locked behind them, and followed their
guide through several garden alleys to the kitchen entrance of the
house.  A single candle burned in the great paved kitchen, which
was destitute of the customary furniture; and as the party
proceeded to ascend from thence by a flight of winding stairs, a
prodigious noise of rats testified still more plainly to the
dilapidation of the house.

Their conductor preceded them, carrying the candle.  He was a lean
man, much bent, but still agile; and he turned from time to time
and admonished silence and caution by his gestures.  Colonel
Geraldine followed on his heels, the case of swords under one arm,
and a pistol ready in the other.  Brackenbury's heart beat thickly.
He perceived that they were still in time; but he judged from the
alacrity of the old man that the hour of action must be near at
hand; and the circumstances of this adventure were so obscure and
menacing, the place seemed so well chosen for the darkest acts,
that an older man than Brackenbury might have been pardoned a
measure of emotion as he closed the procession up the winding
stair.

At the top the guide threw open a door and ushered the three
officers before him into a small apartment, lighted by a smoky lamp
and the glow of a modest fire.  At the chimney corner sat a man in
the early prime of life, and of a stout but courtly and commanding
appearance.  His attitude and expression were those of the most
unmoved composure; he was smoking a cheroot with much enjoyment and
deliberation, and on a table by his elbow stood a long glass of
some effervescing beverage which diffused an agreeable odour
through the room.

"Welcome," said he, extending his hand to Colonel Geraldine.  "I
knew I might count on your exactitude."

"On my devotion," replied the Colonel, with a bow.

"Present me to your friends," continued the first; and, when that
ceremony had been performed, "I wish, gentlemen," he added, with
the most exquisite affability, "that I could offer you a more
cheerful programme; it is ungracious to inaugurate an acquaintance
upon serious affairs; but the compulsion of events is stronger than
the obligations of good-fellowship.  I hope and believe you will be
able to forgive me this unpleasant evening; and for men of your
stamp it will be enough to know that you are conferring a
considerable favour."

"Your Highness," said the Major, "must pardon my bluntness.  I am
unable to hide what I know.  For some time back I have suspected
Major Hammersmith, but Mr. Godall is unmistakable.  To seek two men
in London unacquainted with Prince Florizel of Bohemia was to ask
too much at Fortune's hands."

"Prince Florizel!" cried Brackenbury in amazement.

And he gazed with the deepest interest on the features of the
celebrated personage before him.

"I shall not lament the loss of my incognito," remarked the Prince,
"for it enables me to thank you with the more authority.  You would
have done as much for Mr. Godall, I feel sure, as for the Prince of
Bohemia; but the latter can perhaps do more for you.  The gain is
mine," he added, with a courteous gesture.

And the next moment he was conversing with the two officers about
the Indian army and the native troops, a subject on which, as on
all others, he had a remarkable fund of information and the
soundest views.

There was something so striking in this man's attitude at a moment
of deadly peril that Brackenbury was overcome with respectful
admiration; nor was he less sensible to the charm of his
conversation or the surprising amenity of his address.  Every
gesture, every intonation, was not only noble in itself, but seemed
to ennoble the fortunate mortal for whom it was intended; and
Brackenbury confessed to himself with enthusiasm that this was a
sovereign for whom a brave man might thankfully lay down his life.

Many minutes had thus passed, when the person who had introduced
them into the house, and who had sat ever since in a corner, and
with his watch in his hand, arose and whispered a word into the
Prince's ear.

"It is well, Dr. Noel," replied Florizel, aloud; and then
addressing the others, "You will excuse me, gentlemen," he added,
"if I have to leave you in the dark.  The moment now approaches."

Dr. Noel extinguished the lamp.  A faint, grey light, premonitory
of the dawn, illuminated the window, but was not sufficient to
illuminate the room; and when the Prince rose to his feet, it was
impossible to distinguish his features or to make a guess at the
nature of the emotion which obviously affected him as he spoke.  He
moved towards the door, and placed himself at one side of it in an
attitude of the wariest attention.

"You will have the kindness," he said, "to maintain the strictest
silence, and to conceal yourselves in the densest of the shadow."

The three officers and the physician hastened to obey, and for
nearly ten minutes the only sound in Rochester House was occasioned
by the excursions of the rats behind the woodwork.  At the end of
that period, a loud creak of a hinge broke in with surprising
distinctness on the silence; and shortly after, the watchers could
distinguish a slow and cautious tread approaching up the kitchen
stair.  At every second step the intruder seemed to pause and lend
an ear, and during these intervals, which seemed of an incalculable
duration, a profound disquiet possessed the spirit of the
listeners.  Dr. Noel, accustomed as he was to dangerous emotions,
suffered an almost pitiful physical prostration; his breath
whistled in his lungs, his teeth grated one upon another, and his
joints cracked aloud as he nervously shifted his position.

At last a hand was laid upon the door, and the bolt shot back with
a slight report.  There followed another pause, during which
Brackenbury could see the Prince draw himself together noiselessly
as if for some unusual exertion.  Then the door opened, letting in
a little more of the light of the morning; and the figure of a man
appeared upon the threshold and stood motionless.  He was tall, and
carried a knife in his hand.  Even in the twilight they could see
his upper teeth bare and glistening, for his mouth was open like
that of a hound about to leap.  The man had evidently been over the
head in water but a minute or two before; and even while he stood
there the drops kept falling from his wet clothes and pattered on
the floor.

The next moment he crossed the threshold.  There was a leap, a
stifled cry, an instantaneous struggle; and before Colonel
Geraldine could spring to his aid, the Prince held the man disarmed
and helpless, by the shoulders

"Dr. Noel," he said, "you will be so good as to re-light the lamp."

And relinquishing the charge of his prisoner to Geraldine and
Brackenbury, he crossed the room and set his back against the
chimney-piece.  As soon as the lamp had kindled, the party beheld
an unaccustomed sternness on the Prince's features.  It was no
longer Florizel, the careless gentleman; it was the Prince of
Bohemia, justly incensed and full of deadly purpose, who now raised
his head and addressed the captive President of the Suicide Club.

"President," he said, "you have laid your last snare, and your own
feet are taken in it.  The day is beginning; it is your last
morning.  You have just swum the Regent's Canal; it is your last
bathe in this world.  Your old accomplice, Dr. Noel, so far from
betraying me, has delivered you into my hands for judgment.  And
the grave you had dug for me this afternoon shall serve, in God's
almighty providence, to hide your own just doom from the curiosity
of mankind.  Kneel and pray, sir, if you have a mind that way; for
your time is short, and God is weary of your iniquities."

The President made no answer either by word or sign; but continued
to hang his head and gaze sullenly on the floor, as though he were
conscious of the Prince's prolonged and unsparing regard.

"Gentlemen," continued Florizel, resuming the ordinary tone of his
conversation, "this is a fellow who has long eluded me, but whom,
thanks to Dr. Noel, I now have tightly by the heels.  To tell the
story of his misdeeds would occupy more time than we can now
afford; but if the canal had contained nothing but the blood of his
victims, I believe the wretch would have been no drier than you see
him.  Even in an affair of this sort I desire to preserve the forms
of honour.  But I make you the judges, gentlemen - this is more an
execution than a duel and to give the rogue his choice of weapons
would be to push too far a point of etiquette.  I cannot afford to
lose my life in such a business," he continued, unlocking the case
of swords; "and as a pistol-bullet travels so often on the wings of
chance, and skill and courage may fall by the most trembling
marksman, I have decided, and I feel sure you will approve my
determination, to put this question to the touch of swords."

When Brackenbury and Major O'Rooke, to whom these remarks were
particularly addressed, had each intimated his approval, "Quick,
sir," added Prince Florizel to the President, "choose a blade and
do not keep me waiting; I have an impatience to be done with you
for ever."

For the first time since he was captured and disarmed the President
raised his head, and it was plain that he began instantly to pluck
up courage.

"Is it to be stand up?" he asked eagerly, "and between you and me?"

"I mean so far to honour you," replied the Prince.

"Oh, come!" cried the President.  "With a fair field, who knows how
things may happen?  I must add that I consider it handsome
behaviour on your Highness's part; and if the worst comes to the
worst I shall die by one of the most gallant gentlemen in Europe."

And the President, liberated by those who had detained him, stepped
up to the table and began, with minute attention, to select a
sword.  He was highly elated, and seemed to feel no doubt that he
should issue victorious from the contest.  The spectators grew
alarmed in the face of so entire a confidence, and adjured Prince
Florizel to reconsider his intention.