"That's exactly what I don't know myself," said Skilligalee. "The gentleman has, however, behaved himself as such; and that's enough for us. Hark! there's the clock on the staircase striking five? We haven't much time to lose: come on."
Markham led the way with the light: Skilligalee followed, supporting the Rattlesnake, who was weak and exhausted with the effects of extreme terror.
"Which way shall we go?" she inquired, as they paused for a moment in the scullery, to listen if all were quiet.
"By the back gate," answered Skilligalee. "I have secured the key. The porter keeps the keys of the front door."
"And what has become of him—that dreadful man who was the cause of all this misery?" asked the Rattlesnake. "Was he killed by the blow that the Traveller dealt him with his long dagger?"
These words struck a chord which vibrated to Markham's heart.
"Was any one wounded in this house during the night?" he demanded hastily.
Skilligalee hesitated: he knew not who Markham was, nor what might be the consequences of a reply consistent with the truth.
"Answer me, I conjure you," continued Richard, perceiving this unwillingness to satisfy his curiosity. "I have every reason to believe that a person whose name is Anthony Tidkins——"
"Oh! yes—yes," murmured the Rattlesnake, with a convulsive shudder.