We shall find his photo in some jail or other in time for the assizes." "Away with him!" cried Bartley, furiously.
As the policeman took him off, the baffled villain's eye fell on Hope, who stood with folded arms, and looked down on him with lowering brow and the deep indignation of the just, and yet with haughty triumph.
That eloquent look was a revelation to Monckton.
"Ah," he cried, "it was _you_." Hope's only reply was this: "You double felon, false accuser and thief, you are caught in your own trap." And this he thundered at him with such sudden power that the thief went cringing out, and even those who remained were awed.

But Hope never told anybody except Walter Clifford that he had undone Monckton's work in the lobby; and then the poor boy fell upon his neck, and kissed his hand.
To run forward a little: Monckton was tried, and made no defense.

He dared not call Hope as his witness, for it was clear Hope must have seen him commit the theft and attempt the other villainy.

But the false accusation leaked out as well as the theft.

A previous conviction was proved, and the indignant judge gave him fourteen years.
Thus was Bartley's fatal secret in mortal peril on the day it first existed; yet on that very day it was saved from exposure, and buried deep in a jail.
Bartley set Hope over his business, and was never heard of for months.
Then he turned up in Sussex with a little girl, who had been saved from diphtheria by tracheotomy, and some unknown quack.
There was a scar to prove it.