“I will tell you.  The person whom you have had here, and goes by the name of Varney, is named Francis Beauchamp.”

“Indeed!  Are you assured of this?”

“Yes, perfectly assured of it; I have it in my warrant to apprehend him by either name.”

“What crime had he been guilty of?”

“I will tell you:  he has been hanged.”

“Hanged!” exclaimed all present.

“What do you mean by that?” added Henry; “I am at a loss to understand what you can mean by saying he was hanged.”

“What I say is literally true.”

“Pray tell us all about it.  We are much interested in the fact; go on, sir.”

“Well, sir, then I believe it was for murder that Francis Beauchamp was hanged—­yes, hanged; a common execution, before a multitude of people, collected to witness such an exhibition.”

“Good God!” exclaimed Henry Bannerworth.  “And was—­but that is impossible.  A dead man come to life again!  You must be amusing yourself at our expense.”

“Not I,” replied the officer.  “Here is my warrant; they don’t make these out in a joke.”

And, as he spoke, he produced the warrant, when it was evident the officer spoke the truth.

“How was this?”

“I will tell you, sir.  You see that this Varney was a regular scamp, gamester, rogue, and murderer.  He was hanged, and hung about the usual time; he was cut down and the body was given to some one for dissection, when a surgeon, with the hangman, one Montgomery, succeeded in restoring the criminal to life.”

“But I always thought they broke the neck when they were hanged; the weight of the body would alone do that.”

“Oh, dear, no, sir,” said the officer; “that is one of the common every day mistakes; they don’t break the neck once in twenty times.”

“Indeed!”

“No; they die of suffocation only; this man, Beauchamp, was hanged thus, but they contrived to restore him, and then he assumed a new name, and left London.”

“But how came you to know all this?”

“Oh! it came to us, as many things usually do, in a very extraordinary manner, and in a manner that appears most singular and out of the way; but such it was.

“The executioner who was the means of his being restored, or one of them, wished to turn him to account, and used to draw a yearly sum of money from him, as hush money, to induce them to keep the secret; else, the fact of his having escaped punishment would subject him to a repetition of the same punishment; when, of course, a little more care would be taken that he did not escape a second time.”

“I dare say not.”

“Well, you see, Varney, or rather Beauchamp, was to pay a heavy sum to this man to keep him quiet, and to permit him to enjoy the life he had so strangely become possessed of.”

“I see,” said Holland.

“Well, this man, Montgomery, had always some kind of suspicion that Varney would murder him.”