"Mr. Box," groaned Tom, "I've a-a-secret as makes me very uneasy, sir,"

"Indeed, Tom," I replied; "hadn't you better confess the mur--" murder, I
was a going to say, but I thought it might not be polite, considering Tom's
situation.

The ruffian, for such he looked then, tried to raise himself, but another
lurch of the Bellophron sent him on his back, and myself on my beam-ends.
As soon as I recovered my former position, Tom continued--

"Mr. Box, dare I trust you, sir? if I could do so, I'm sartin as how I
should soon be easier."

"Of course," said I, "of course; out with it, and I promise never to betray
your confidence."

"Then come, come here," gasped the suffering wretch; "give us your hand,
sir."

I instinctively shrunk back with horror!

"Don't be long, Mr. Box, for every minute makes it worse," and then his
Saracen's Head changed to a feminine expression, and resembled the _Belle
Sauvage_.

I couldn't resist the appeal; so placing my hand in his, Tom put it over
his shoulder, and, with a ghastly smile, said, "Pull it out, sir!"

"Pull what out?"