"We may as well have the plate, if there is any," whispered this individual to his companion. "In fact, we'll have a regular ransack of the place; and if he awakes——"
"I'll cut his infernal throat in a jiffey," added Tim the Snammer.
Josh grinned an approval of this summary mode of proceeding, and opened one of the side-board drawers. But the noise which a sugar-basin or some such article made inside the drawer, by falling over with the sudden jerk, aroused the sleeper.
Sir Henry Courtenay started—opened his eyes—beheld a strange countenance hanging over him—and was about to utter a cry of alarm, when the terrible clasp-knife was drawn rapidly and violently across his throat.
There was a dull, gurgling noise—a convulsive quivering of the entire frame,—but not a groan—much less an exclamation of terror,—and Sir Henry Courtenay was no more!
"Come along, Tim," said Josh Pedler, whose face was ghastly pale. "We've done enough for to-night."
"Yes—let us be off," returned the murderer, now shuddering at the dreadful deed which he had just perpetrated.
And they were issuing from the room, when the noise of footsteps on the stairs made them redouble their speed to gain the front-door.
It was Mr. Torrens who had thus alarmed them; but they escaped without molestation—for when that gentleman reached the hall, and beheld two men rushing towards the front-door, he was himself seized with such profound terror—painfully strung as his feelings had been that night—that he was for a few moments stupified, and rivetted to the spot.
But when he saw the front-door close behind the strangers, he took courage—hastily secured it within—and then hurried to the parlour, in agony of fear lest his gold and notes should have become the prey of plunderers!