That he did make it his business to call at the houses of the wealthy in Blackheath, Greenwich, and elsewhere was very certain—the number of houses he entered it would be very difficult to enumerate, and in most cases he brought away with him substantial proofs of his having made a careful selection of the valuables therein.
Upon arriving at Spurgeon’s Tabernacle he found Bandy-legged Bill awaiting his appearance. Bill was good at an appointment, and seldom failed to keep any he made with our hero.
“Well, old stick-in-the-mud, are you in better fettle now? Got rid of the miserables—eh?” cried Peace.
“I’m all right now, old man,” returned the gipsy. “It was but a passing cloud.”
“Ah, so you’ve still got a touch of the romantic, it would seem. Well, jump up.”
The gipsy got into the trap, which was driven off by Peace.
“Where are you making for—any place in particular?”
“I saw a tempting-looking crib at Upper Charlton, and we’ll just see if it can be worked to rights.”
Rawton laughed.
“I wish I had got your ability, Charlie, and your nerve,” said he. “I’ve tried, but have never been able to manage this sort of business by myself. I expect I’m clumsy. Anyway, I’m a fool compared to you.”