“And drive round to the back yard, without saying a word to anyone.”
“I’m on; so be it, Charlie.”
This little matter having been thus satisfactorily arranged, Peace and the gipsy returned to the parlour.
Willie Ward had by this time returned, and he and our hero, as usual, began to play duets.
Presently the ladies of the establishment presented themselves, and a social and convivial evening was passed.
Rawton left at a little before twelve, with a promise to be there on the following evening.
Peace, of course, did not go out on a depredating excursion for that night.
Punctual to his appointment, Bandy-legged Bill drove into the back yard of No. 4 at about a quarter before eight on the succeeding night.
Peace was ready to receive him, and the hampers were quickly lifted into the cart, whereupon the two friends proceeded at once in the direction of Whitechapel.
“We’ll try Simmonds first,” said our hero. “Cunning Isaac, as we call him, is a rapacious old scoundrel, who wants things for next door to nothing. Simmonds is worth two of him.”