Suddenly it seemed to George as if the earth's surface had opened to receive him, and that he dropped from untold heights. The fact was that the head of the barrel had given in, and he was thrown backwards onto the hard ground. He came down with a clatter. A side entrance to the tavern ran close to where he had been standing. In fact, he had been exposed to the view of any one who came up the walk. Just as he had fallen a party of five or six entered the yard from the outside, coming up the road by the stables.
"Hello! What's that out there?" said a voice. The window of the dining-room was thrown up and a white-wigged head thrust out. "I say, who's there?" was again repeated.
George arose to his feet. One of the party coming toward him stepped forward. "What is the matter here?" he said.
Now if he was called to explain his presence it might lead to his detection, and with a sense of horror George saw that one of the party was the heavy man who had been in his room at the City Arms—the uncle of Richard Blount, of Albany, whose bona fide nephew was in confinement in New Jersey.
He jumped to his feet and made a leap for the wall, to get over before the others could reach the gate.
"Stop him there!" said the voice from the window. "See who it is! Stop him!"
As he reached the top, and was about to throw himself on the other side, there were a flash and a report, and a strange pain ran through George's left arm. He lost his balance and fell.
When he came to, for he had been stunned a trifle by the second fall, he saw that quite a crowd was gathered over him.
"Does anybody know him?" some one asked.
"Yes, I do," was the answer. "It is the young man who tried to steal my time-piece the other day." The voice was Abel Norton's.