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"You'd better let me in quietly," I warned him.
"I won't--I won't!" he almost shouted. "I mean to protect myself. And I'll tell you something else, my young friend," he went on, leaning further out of the window, and shaking a fist at me. "I've made up my mind to see you comfortably put away again."
"Indeed?" I retorted, "and how are you going to manage that?"
"I've written to the authorities, telling them that if they come here to-morrow night I can give them a full and true account of a certain convict called Norton Hyde, supposed to be buried in Penthouse Prison, but really very much alive. Put that in your pipe and smoke it! I've cooked your goose, my boy, and I shall sleep peaceful o' nights in future."
He slammed down the window, leaving me standing in the darkness, thinking long thoughts. I saw that it was as hopeless for me to get in here as it had proved to be at the house of Bardolph Just; I went sorrowfully out of the gate, realising that all was over. As I turned into the road, I almost cannoned against a man who seemed to be lounging there. He turned away his face quickly, and although for a moment I had a feeling that it was a face that was familiar to me, the thought merely flitted through my mind for a moment, and was gone as the man lurched away. I saw that he was dressed roughly, like a labouring man.
You may be sure that I did not sleep that night. I paced my room, wondering what I should do; I varied that only by seating myself at the window, and staring out at the sky, telling myself over and over again that all I had striven to do had come to naught. To-morrow the true story would be told to the world; to-morrow Norton Hyde would be a hunted man again, with three or four people interested in his capture, who would know all his movements, and could supply a dozen clues towards finding him. It was impossible for me to do anything to help Debora, because Bardolph Just's house would be one of the first places to be watched, if it came to a hunt for me. I was done.
And then it was that I came to a desperate resolution. I was homeless and hopeless, and I had failed; I determined that I would keep the appointment that night, and would meet those who were to see my uncle. I would give myself up to the authorities, and so end the miserable business by going back to my prison. There was nothing else for it; I felt that it was far better to close the matter once and for all time.
I got to Uncle Zabdiel's house after darkness had set in. Just as I turned into the road leading to it, I saw two men, respectably dressed in dark clothing, and with bowler hats, going along in front of me; my heart gave a little jump, for I thought I knew their errand. They came to the gate in the wall and opened it. I had determined by this time that I would waste no time, and so I came up with them as they passed into the garden. One of them turned and looked at me.
"What do you want, sir?" he asked.
"I've come to see Mr. Blowfield," I replied; for I had made up my mind to see the matter out in my uncle's presence.
The man said nothing, but joined his companion, who was standing before the door of the house, and who had just rung the bell. There was no answer to the summons, and after a time he tugged at the bell-pull again. In moving to do this he made a discovery.
"Why, the door's open," he murmured; then he pushed it, and stepped into the dark hall.
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