I took leave of my love reluctantly at ten o’clock, just outside Bringhurst village. She was anxious to be back at the farm before the return of Purvis, who had gone that morning to London on some secret errand, and was returning by the last train.

She had entirely enchanted me. The more I saw of her, the more graceful, the more charming, she seemed. There was nothing loud or masculine about her; she was a sweet, modest woman, yearning for love, sympathy, and protection.

The manner in which she was bound to this clever gang of rogues was still a mystery. In me she had confided many things during those two calm hours of our new-born love, but from me she still concealed the real reason why her interests were bound up in those of Purvis, Bennett, and their two accomplices. I guessed, and believed that I guessed aright. The tragedy at Kilburn held her to them irrevocably. She was entirely and helplessly in their hands, to fetch and carry, to do their bidding; indeed, to act unlawfully at their command.

If that were so, surely no woman could be in a more horrible position—compelled to be the accomplice of assassins.

I thought it all over as, in the darkness, I walked back to Caldecott.

True, I had gained her affection that night. Yet, together with the perfect bliss that comes in the first hour of true love, there had also come to me the hideous truth of her bondage.

The last train from Rugby having rushed past, sparks flying from the engine and awakening the echoes of the night, stopped for a moment at Rockingham Station and then continued its journey eastward. And presently, as I walked onward in the darkness, I encountered a man whose face I could not see, for we passed each other beneath the shadow of some trees. I saw he was tall and thin, and wore a long light overcoat. He was whistling to himself, as a lonely man sometimes whistles to keep himself company.

His silhouette stood out distinctly in the gloom, and although I saw not his countenance I knew well that it was my enemy Purvis—the man who held my love in bondage.

Back at the Manor I found everything prepared for siege. Seal was not a man to stand idle if there was any chance of a scrimmage. Like all giants in strength, he loved fighting. His hesitation to face Black Bennett had now entirely disappeared, and over his rum that night he expressed a most fervent hope that the “white-livered swabs,” as he termed them, would appear in the secret passage.

On the table between us lay three revolvers, and as we took counsel together each of us smoked furiously. I told them something of what Dorothy Drummond had related to me, how our enemies meant to raid us, and of their firm belief that the treasure was concealed there. But I said nothing of my tender passion, nor did I allow them to suspect the real object of our clandestine meeting.

“Ah!” remarked Reilly. “If you could only get Miss Drummond, or Bristowe, or whatever is her real name, to secure that parchment of old Knutton’s, then the game would be entirely in our own hands.”

“That’s unfortunately impossible,” I answered. “The man Purvis has it securely put away. I have already mentioned it to her, and she tells me that she has no idea where it is.”

“Well,” remarked the skipper, “Black Bennett and his men are just as much in the dark as we are. Let ’em come. They’ll get a warm reception. How many of ’em are there?”

“Four. Bennett and the other two are lodging in Kettering.”

“The only reason of the secret attack upon us, as far as I can see, is in order to gag and secure us while they make a thorough search of the premises. They surely wouldn’t dare to kill the whole three of us in our beds!” said Reilly.

“They won’t kill Job Seal, you can bet your sea-boots on that,” remarked the skipper with a grin upon his great furrowed face.

But my mind was running upon the tragedy at Kilburn, and I was trying to devise some means by which we might denounce the whole gang, and hand them over to the police.

There was, alas! one fact which would ever prevent us taking such an action. If we boldly charged them with murder, Dorothy must be implicated. To arrest them would mean arrest for her. She had acted as decoy, and could not deny it!

So I was compelled to abandon all hope in that direction. By sheer force we would be compelled to combat this quartette of unscrupulous adventurers, and to that end we awaited their coming.

So thoroughly and carefully had we examined every hole and corner of the house that all three of us were beginning to despair of ever discovering the hidden hoard. In an old-fashioned mansion of that character there were a thousand and one places where gold might be stored. In chimneys, under stairs, beneath the flags of the big, vaulted cellars, behind the large, open fireplaces—some of which still had their quaint iron dogs of ancient days—all these places we had investigated in vain. Not a single room was there but bore traces of our chisels, picks and crowbars. The result of our search consisted in two or three copper coins, an old letter dated in 1796, a skeleton with rings upon the fingers, an old leathern mug, and two or three articles not worth enumeration.

We were sorely disappointed. We could not conceal from ourselves the bare fact that at any rate in the Manor House the treasure of Bartholomew da Schorno was non-existent, and, furthermore, we feared that some one in generations past had been before us and secured it in secret.

Nevertheless, the careful and ingenious actions of our enemies in order to gain entry into the place puzzled us. From what my love had told me, they were evidently in possession of some information of which we were in ignorance—information which made it plain that, after all, the treasure was actually there.

They meant mischief; we had no doubt about that. But, being forewarned, we calmly awaited their coming, Seal chuckling to himself at the reception they would receive.

The church clock struck midnight. We had moved into the room from which the secret way opened, and, Reilly having produced a pack of cards, we played nap in under-tones, our weapons lying at hand in case of need.

Now and then—indeed, after every game—one or other of us rose and listened within the secret chamber for the approach of the invaders. One o’clock passed, two o’clock, yet no sound save the familiar thumping and squealing of the rats and the dismal howling of the wind in the wide, old-fashioned chimney.

Seal had lost five shillings, and had therefore become engrossed in the game, when of a sudden we heard a low grating noise. In an instant we were on our feet, revolver in hand, and according to our pre-arranged plan our light was at once extinguished.

It was our object to watch and take the intruders by surprise.

Without a sound we all three moved across the room and out into the corridor, conceali............