“You had no interruption from the next room?” said my uncle.

“No,” was the brief reply.

“Secure the jewels, Ned; the French harpy must not lay her claws upon them.  You’re a steady hand, by G—­d; not much blood—­eh?”

“Not twenty drops,” replied his son, “and those on the quilt.”

“I’m glad it’s over,” whispered my uncle again; “we must lift the—­the thing through the window, and lay the rubbish over it.”

They then turned to the bedside, and, winding the bed-clothes round the body, carried it between them slowly to the window, and exchanging a few brief words with some one below, they shoved it over the window-sill, and I heard it fall heavily on the ground underneath.

“I’ll take the jewels,” said my uncle; “there are two caskets in the lower drawer.”

He proceeded, with an accuracy which, had I been more at ease, would have furnished me with matter of astonishment, to lay his hand upon the very spot where my jewels lay; and having possessed himself of them, he called to his son:—­

“Is the rope made fast above?”

“I’m no fool; to be sure it is,” replied he.

They then lowered themselves from the window; and I rose lightly and cautiously, scarcely daring to breathe, from my place of concealment, and was creeping towards the door, when I heard my uncle’s voice, in a sharp whisper, exclaim, “Get up again; G—­d d—­n you, you’ve forgot to lock the room door”; and I perceived, by the straining of the rope which hung from above, that the mandate was instantly obeyed.  Not a second was to be lost.  I passed through the door, which was only closed, and moved as rapidly as I could, consistently with stillness, along the lobby.  Before I had gone many yards, I heard the door through which I had just passed roughly locked on the inside.  I glided down the stairs in terror, lest, at every corner, I should meet the murderer or one of his accomplices.  I reached the hall, and listened, for a moment, to ascertain whether all was silent around.  No sound was audible; the parlour windows opened on the park, and through one of them I might, I thought, easily effect my escape.  Accordingly, I hastily entered; but, to my consternation, a candle was burning in the room, and by its light I saw a figure seated at the dinner-table, upon which lay glasses, bottles, and the other accompaniments of a drinking party.  Two or three chairs were placed about the table, irregularly, as if hastily abandoned by their occupants.  A single glance satisfied me that the figure was that of my French attendant.  She was fast asleep, having, probably, drank deeply.  There was something malignant and ghastly in the calmness of this bad woman’s features, dimly illuminated as they were by the flickering blaze of the candle.  A knife lay upon the table, and the terrible thought struck me—­“Should I kill this sleeping accomplice in the guilt of the murderer, and thus secure my retreat?” Nothing could be easier; it was but to draw the blade across her throat, the work of a second.