"None o' your gammon, now, can't you?" growled Jack.

"Gammon! nonsense, Jack! It's all straightforward and above-board. You shall be all right. Now, look here--what do you know? If it's worth the two hundred pounds, you shall have the money clean down in your fist. I'll see that you do. Now are you satisfied?"

"Fain sweatings," growled Mr Screwby, who was apparently far from being in as confident a state as he could have wished.

"What does he say?" exclaimed Sir Francis.

"He means, sir, that he don't want the reward money to be fiddled."

"Fiddled?" said Sir Francis.

"Yes, sir--thinned down, and deducted from."

"Oh, no! let him earn the reward, and he shall have it in full,"

exclaimed Sir Francis.

"To be sure," said the new-comer. "There, Jack, do you hear? All fair and above-board. Money down as soon as the gentleman is found--_by your information, mind_."

"Well, never mind about no informations," growled Screwby; "if I find him, eh?"

"Yes, if you find the gentleman."

"Dead or alive?" said Screwby, brutally.

"Dead or alive," said the new-comer, turning, as did also Clayton, to glance at Sir Francis Redgrave, who was very pale, but who remained unmoved, save for the corners of his mouth, which twitched sharply.

Mr John Screwby evidently had great faith in his own powers as a reader of physiognomy, for he glanced from one to the other, and allowed his eyes to rest long upon each face; then he had a long stare at the door, and another at the window, as if meditating flight, or probably from his foxy wild-beast-like nature, which prompted him to mistrust everybody, and to have both an avenue of entrance and another for escape. Then he took another vicious rub at his nose, and refreshed himself with a nibble at his cap, off which he evidently obtained a few woolly sc.r.a.ps; but at last he allowed his furtive-looking eyes to rest upon the new-comer, who had been all the time thoughtfully tapping his teeth with his pencil, and apparently taking not the slightest notice of him whatever.

The fellow then prepared to speak, by hitching himself closer to the stranger, who only gave him a nod, which was interpreted to mean--"Stay where you are!"

For Mr John Screwby stood shuffling from foot to foot, and then placed his hand before his mouth, to direct the flow of his discourse only into the stranger's ear.

"Speak out, Jack!" said the latter, coolly; "you needn't be afraid."

"Who's afeard?" growled Jack, sourly.

"Oh! not you, Jack, of course," said the other; "you've a heart above that sort of thing, you know."

"You're gallus witty, you are," growled Jack, below his breath.

"Well, speak up, Jack; the gentlemen would like to hear what you have to say, I'm sure."

"Look ye here, then, Master Falkner," said Jack, in a hoa.r.s.e whisper, that sounded as harsh and grating as the sharpening of a saw,--"look ye here; that there young chap's been hanging about D. Wragg's crib for months past."

"To be sure he has, Jack--to be sure; we know that; and what does it mean? Pigeons, or rats, or dogs, or something of that sort, eh?"

Mr Falkner, sergeant of police, half closed his eyes as he spoke, and thrust his hands beneath his coat-tails, as, with head on one side, he waited to hear further news.

"Pigins--dorgs! Not a bit of it. He warn't arter them," said Screwby.

"Gents like him don't have no 'casion to come our way; 'cos why? Lots o' dealers comes arter them, and'll bring 'em any number o' rats, or dorgs either, for the matter o' that. You knows better nor that, Master Falkner. If I was to tell you as I come down here to make these here gents' minds easy, you wouldn't believe me, would you?"

"Well, not to put too fine a point on it, Jack Screwby," said the sergeant, "no, I should not."

"No," said the fellow, chuckling, "in coorse you wouldn't; and no more you don't believe as he went down our way arter rats or dorgs."

"Well, suppose he did not: what then?" said the sergeant.

"Don't you hurry no man's cattle; you may have a moke o' your own some day," said Screwby, with a grin. "I'm a coming to it fast, I am; so look out. Look ye here, governor," he said in his hoa.r.s.e whisper, and he craned his neck towards the impa.s.sive officer, "lars Chewsday night was a week as I see him go in theer all alone."

"Go in where, Jack--in where?" said the sergeant, quietly, but with his eyes a little closer, his ears twitching, and every nerve evidently on the strain.

"Why, ain't I a tellin' on ye?--in theer!"

"To be sure, yes, of course," said the sergeant, quietly, "in there--all right!"

"Yes," continued Screwby, "in theer--in at D. Wragg's; and," continued the fellow, in deep tones, harsh, husky, and like a hoa.r.s.e whisper sent through some large tube--"and he didn't come out no more."

Volume 2, Chapter XXV.

TAKING UP THE CLUE.

As the rough, brutal fellow uttered those, words, accompanying them with a low cunning grin of satisfaction at his success, the walls of the room seemed to swim round before Harry Clayton's eyes; but recovering himself, he ran to the side of Sir Francis, just as he was staggering and would have fallen.

"It's nothing, my dear boy--nothing at all," he gasped; "only a slight touch of faintness. Ring--a gla.s.s of wine--a little water--thanks! I am a little overdone with anxiety--a trifle unnerved. Sergeant, you will see to this directly, we will go with you."

"Better not, sir--better not," said the officer, bluntly; "leave it in my hands."

"Sergeant Falkner," said the old man, piteously, "you are not a father, or you would not speak like that."

"Ain't I, by Jove, sir!" cried the sergeant, heartily; "I've got ten already, and goodness knows how many more to come. I've had butcher-and-baker on-the-brain any time this ten years, sir; let alone boots. But I beg your pardon, Sir Francis; I won't say another word.

Here, you, Screwby, go and sit in that chair," and he pointed to the one farthest from the door. Then, walking across with the man, he to a certain extent seemed to seat him in the chair, the great hulking rascal being like so much plastic clay in his hands.

The next moment Sergeant Falkner was at the low window, which he threw open, and stepped out upon the balcony, but in an instant he came back-- very hastily back--into the room, and hurried to the door, which he opened, to take the key from the outside and carefully lock it from within--the key being afterwards placed in his pocket.

A few seconds more, and, to the surprise of Sir Francis and Clayton, he was again in the balcony, where he uttered a low cough.

There was a pause of a few moments, when he stooped over, and leaning down, spoke to some one beneath.

Apparently satisfied, he re-entered the room, closed the window, unlocked the door, and began to walk up and down thoughtfully, tapping his teeth the while with the end of his pencil.

"For what are we waiting, sergeant?" said Sir Francis, anxiously.

"Cab, sir," said the officer, curtly; "and here it is. After you, gentlemen!"

As he spoke, there was the sound of wheels grating against the kerb below; and a few minutes after the party was rattling through the streets, but only to stop before long at a quiet-looking office.

Springing out, the sergeant signed to a policeman, who seemed to be there by accident, but all the same was ready to take his place by the cab-door, adding nothing to the ease and comfort of Mr John Screwby, who was quite as fidgety when, after a few minutes, the sergeant returned, gave a few instructions to the driver, and they were once more rattling through the gas-lit streets.