"It won't do. You haven't the 'pluck,'" sneered Arthur,—"if it was a weak girl, there's no knowing what you might do; but as it is a man and an—executioner."
"I am ready," was all that Barnhurst could reply.
"One moment, dear friend, and I'll be with you," as he spoke, Dermoyne advanced toward the Madam's Desk. "I must have a pledge before I go."
Before the preacher had time to analyze the meaning of these words, Dermoyne, with one blow of the iron bar, had forced the lock of the Madam's desk. He raised the lid and the light fell upon packages of letters, neatly folded, and upon a large book, square in shape and bound in red morocco.
"The red book!" the words were forced from Barnhurst's lips, as he saw Arthur raise the volume to the light and rapidly examine its contents. The red book! Well he knew the character of that singular volume!
"Yes, this will do," said Arthur, as he placed the book under his cloak. "I wanted a pledge,—that is to say, a sure hold upon the Madam and her friends. And I have one!"
He took the clergyman by the arm and they went forth together from the private chamber,—the holy place—of the Madam. Went forth together, and descending the stairs, passed in the darkness along the hall. The key was in the lock of the front door. Arthur turned it, and in a moment, they passed together over the threshold of that mansion of crime, and stood in the light of the wintery stars.
"Who," whispered Arthur, as side by side, and arm in arm, they went down the dark street, "who to see us walk so lovingly together, would imagine the real nature of those relations which bind us together?"
He felt Barnhurst shudder as he held him to his side—
"The red book!" ejaculated the clergyman, with accent hard to define, whether of fear, or wonder, or of horror.