The impression at Peckham was, that Peace had a male accomplice, a clever unscrupulous fellow like himself, and not at all dissimilar physically, but even superior to Peace himself.
This surmise on the part of the journalist in question was correct, the accomplice in question being none other than “Bandy-legged Bill.”
Upon coming in front of Mr. Simmonds’s respectable establishment Peace alighted, and without further ado took one of the hampers into the Jew’s shop.
“I am happy and proud to see you,” cried Simmonds. “Anything in my way?”
“Yes,” returned Peace. “You can look over the articles in this hamper, and see what you can afford to give for them.”
“Yesh, yesh, my tear friend, I vill do so, but business is bad and money is tight—still I’ll do my best for you.”
“I am not going to be chiselled if I can help it,” returned Peace; “so don’t think to come any of your hanky-panky tricks over me.”
“Lord bless us, how suspicious you are! S’help me goodness, I do my best for all of you, my very best. But I say just bring the things into the back parlour, there’s a good fellow. Oh, you don’t know what risks we run.”
Peace dragged the hamper into the small room at the back of the shop. The Jew then began to make a careful inspection of the articles as he drew them forth. He approved them as he did so, putting them down on the tablet of his memory at fifty per cent. less than their intrinsic value.
While thus engaged he dodged and ducked his head, every now and then peering into the front shop through the dingy and dirt-begrimed glass of the door which separated the parlour from the outer shop.