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" "Who told you this is his portrait?" demanded Trenchard. You couldn’t help it. " "Mr. Wood. ” The conversation hung for a moment. “It has been a delightful evening for me. With the usual precautions, Austin then departed. When she awoke from a pleasant dream an hour later, she was shocked to find herself restrained in a bed that was not hers and not the inn’s. Whence she came,—who she was,—and what she wanted,—were questions which naturally suggested themselves to Blueskin, and he was about to seek for some explanation, when his curiosity was checked by a gesture of silence from the lady. Wood, "and I'm sorry and surprised he hasn't swung for his crimes before this. Yet he was in a state of hopeless bewilderment. His stories had enchanted her, even if in some deep corner of her heart she guessed they were not entirely true. So he sharpened a score of pencils, and after fiddling about and rewriting the last page he had written the previous night, he plunged into work. He seemed to be thinking hard. "Gentlemen," returned the Master, solemnly, "it is a question easily answered— they are NOWHERE! Had they hanged the bailiffs, the bailiffs would not have hanged them.
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