"A friend!" exclaimed Bruin, savagely; "then you can't be seeking me, for I have got no friends."
"Come, come, Bruin," said the voice again, "don't be testy; it's I, the Captain, and you know I never played you false."
Bruin now, indeed, recognised the voice as that of, perhaps, the most desperate dog in Caneville. He was a bloodhound of large size and formidable strength, and such ferocity and daring, that few cared to come into contact with him, lest by some chance they should be involved in a quarrel which could only have a disastrous termination. Public report fixed more than one deep crime upon this canine desperado; but still, somehow, he escaped the power of the law. Bruin felt flattered at his attention, and inquired what had brought him there.
"Why," replied the Captain, "this is the third time I have been here already; but though I have called out your name so loudly that I expected to alarm the guard, I have got no answer till to-night. I shouldn't have come back again, for I thought you were dead."
"So I have been nearly, Captain," answered Bruin; "but I am not quite gone yet, you hear. Now you have found me alive, though, what is it you want; and how can I, shut up here, be of any interest to you?"
"Listen to me, Bruin," said the Captain, as he squeezed his nose into the tiny window, and dropped his voice to a low whisper; "if you were out, and at liberty, would you feel inclined to join me and one or two others in a job we intend to come off to-night?"
Bruin hastened to reply, but the Captain interrupted him, saying,—
"Don't be in a hurry to make a promise, until you know what it is; for, shut up here as you are, you can't betray the secret if you would, so I don't mind revealing it. Four of us mean to break into old Lord Greyhound's house to-night, where we hear there's money enough to enrich us for our lives; but as we're likely to have some hard work and stout resistance, and think we are not strong enough yet for the business, we should like you to join us, if you choose to do so."
Bruin reflected a moment, where reflection was ruin. Had he at once and scornfully rejected the horrible temptation, there would still have been hope for him; but, besides the prospect of liberty, though he did not yet know how that was to be effected, there was the chance of enriching himself once again; and, above all, there was a prospect of revenge against the dog who had once sought his life, because he had been selected as an object of preference by his daughter. His meditations, therefore, were at once brought to an end, by his resolution to accept the proposal; but before he did so, the caution he had acquired by associating with such beasts as the Captain made him say,—
"Let us understand each other clearly. You said just now, 'if I were out and at liberty;' have you, then, the power to set me free?"