“Right you are, old sinner. I’ve no right to interfere; so, here goes.”
Upon reaching Blackheath Charles Peace got out of the trap, took his burglar’s instruments with him, and declared that he was about to effect an entrance into a palatial-looking mansion in the immediate neighbourhood.
“Now, if you like, you can drive Tommy home, and leave me to myself. See, here’s the key of the stable.”
“I don’t care about leaving you to yourself, as you term it.”
“It is best for you to do so. There’s a goodish many things in the trap, and if we are suspected—which is more than likely, seeing that the cart and pony may be recognised if we are not—and the contents of the bag are overhauled, where shall we be then? No, no, Bill—it won’t do to risk it. You make the best of your way to the Evelina-road, put up the nag, hide the booty in the place I pointed out to you, and then step it. If you see either of the women say I am detained playing at a concert in Blackheath. Then you can see me in the morning.”
“Oh, very well, if it is to be so, there’s no help for it, I suppose. But where are you going to now?”
“Oh, I’ve had my eye on one or two little places. Never you mind where they are—I tell you I’ve not done for the night—not as yet.”
“You lick me—knock me silly; I’m not in it,” cried the gipsy, with a laugh. “I’m to go back—am I?”
“Yes—haven’t I told you so?”
“Anything else you want?”