Still the rain fell in torrents.  It trickled in many rills off the penthouses of the pedestrians’ headgear; from the lapels of coats and from waistcoats it streamed down, concentrating itself upon soggy knees.  Broad sheets, like the flow of a water-cart, radiated from coat tails of every description; and rivers descending trouser-legs, turned boots and shoes into lakes, which sodden stockinged feet pumped out in returning fountains.  Happily there was no necessity for using gun or pistol, since these weapons shared in the general pervading moisture.  Yet the corporal marched erect, with his left hand on his prisoner’s shoulder.  Poor Matilda was cheerful, though shivering, and, turning round to her boy, said; “It is a good thing, Monty, that we lit the fire when we did, for it would be very hard to light one now;” to which the lad answered, “I hain’t a goin’ to light no more fires no more.”  Sylvanus and the veteran had been telling him what a bad thing it was to set houses on fire, and the hypnotized boy, freed apparently from the mesmeric bond by the death of his unnatural father, responded to the counsels of his new friends.  The influence lasted longer with Matilda, for as, in spite of the absorbing rain, her companions were able to make a study of her talk, they observed that it was controlled by one or two overmastering ideas, which were evidently the imposition of a superior will.  In his dog-Latin, which he presumed the poor woman could not understand, Mr. Bangs said to the lawyer:  “Oportet dicere ad Doctorem dehypnotizere illem feminem.” To this elegant sentence Mr. Coristine briefly answered, “Etiam,” but soon afterwards he asked:  “Where did you pick up your Latin, Mr. Bangs.”

“I wes at school, you know where, with pore Nesh; mulier nescit nomen.  We both took to Letin, because we could talk without being understood by the common crowd.  You find velgar criminals thet know some French, German, Spenish or Portegese, bet none thet know Letin.  In dealing with higher class criminals we used our own gibberish or artificial shibboleth.”

“A sort of Volapuk?”

“Exectly; pore Nesh was ohfelly clever et it.”

“I am going to kill Mr. Nash as soon as I can find him,” interrupted the woman, in an amiable tone of voice, as if she proposed to discharge some pleasant duty.

The men shuddered, and Mr. Bangs said:  “You know, my dear Matilda, what the Bible says, Thou shelt not kill.  You surely would not kemmit the sin of merder?”

“I am not to mind what the Bible says, or what Steevy says, or what clergymen or any other people say.  I am only to do what he says, and I must.”

“Did he tell you to light thet fire?”

“Not that fire, but the other said it was cold down there.”

“Why did he not come up?”

“Because I covered the trap over with the big stones, and Monty helped me.”

“Surely he didn’t tell you to dreg the stones on to the trep?”