to the haberdasher and the mantua-maker, and quite possibly the chemist.
_Persicos odi_, Anastasia; 'tis a humiliating reflection that the hair of a
dead woman artfully disposed about a living head should have the power
to set men squabbling, and murder be at times engendered in a paint-pot.
However, wrap yourself in the cloak. Now turn up the collar,--so. Now pull
down the hatbrim. Um--a--pretty well. Chance favors us unblushingly. You
may thank your stars it is a rainy night and that I am a little man. You
detest little men, don't you? Yes, I remember." Simon Orts now gave his
orders, emphasizing each with a not over-clean forefinger. "When I open
this door you will go out into the corridor. Punshon or one of the others
will be on guard at the farther end. Pay no attention to him. There is
only one light--on the left. Keep to the right, in the shadow. Stagger as
you go; if you can manage a hiccough, the imitation will be all the more
lifelike. Punshon will expect something of the sort, and he will not
trouble you, for he knows that when I am fuddled I am quarrelsome. 'Tis a
diverting world, Anastasia, wherein, you now perceive, habitual drunkenness
and an unbridled temper may sometimes prove commendable,--as they do
to-night, when they aid persecuted innocence!" Here Simon Orts gave an
unpleasant laugh.

"But I do not understand--"

"You understand very little except coquetry and the proper disposition
of a ruffle. Yet this is simple. My horse is tied at the postern.
Mount--astride, mind. You know the way to the Vicarage, so does the horse;
you will find that posturing half-brother of mine at the Vicarage. Tell
Frank what has happened. Tell him to row you to the mainland; tell him to
conduct you to Colonel Denstroude's. Then you must shift for yourself; but
Denstroude is a gentleman, and Denstroude would protect Beelzebub if he
came to him a fugitive from Vincent Floyer. Now do you understand?"