“Murder, Ned Warbeck—murder is his crime.”
“And how came you to ferret out all his villany?”
“I have had my eye on him for a long time. When the fruit was ripe we plucked it. Ha! ha! he is safe enough now.”
“And what are the number of charges against him?”
“A dozen or more.”
“And how did you manage to capture him at last, for I have heard you were a long time in finding him out?”
“Some months, for he lived from time to time in all sorts of holes and corners, and under all imaginable names. He treated his wife, Fanny, in the most shameful manner, and led her also into vice and crime; but as long as she supplied him with money from time to time, he seldom went home, and did not care how or whence the money came. I heard all the facts from a spy, whom I employed, and who, for the last three days before his capture, followed Phillip Redgill about like a shadow.”
“Like an evil genius,” said Ned, smiling.
“Just so,” said Captain Jack, smoking a cigar. “Being extremely hard pressed for money, Phillip thought he would visit his home—the first time, he had done so, it must be confessed, for several weeks—and see what could be realised there.
“He was not surprised to see much company present, for that he knew was of frequent occurrence, and had originated with himself.