“Yes, yes, Bill; give me time, give me time,” replied the Jew soothingly. “Here it is—all safe.” As he spoke, he drew forth an old cotton handkerchief from his breast, and untying a large knot in one corner, produced a small brown-paper packet, which Sikes snatching from him, hastily opened, and proceeded to count the sovereigns it contained.
“This is all, is it?” inquired Sikes.
“All,” replied the Jew.
“You haven’t opened the parcel and swallowed one or two as you come along, have you?” inquired Sikes suspiciously. “Don’t put on a injured look at the question; you’ve done it many a time. Jerk the tinkler.”
These words, in plain English, conveyed an injunction to ring the bell. It was answered by another Jew, younger than Fagin, but nearly as vile and repulsive in appearance.
Bill Sikes merely pointed to the empty measure, and the Jew, perfectly understanding the hint, retired to fill it, previously exchanging a remarkable look with Fagin, who raised his eyes for an instant, as if in expectation of it, and shook his head in reply so slightly that the action would have been almost imperceptible to a third person. It was lost upon Sikes, who was stooping at the moment to tie the boot-lace which the dog had torn. Possibly if he had observed the brief interchange of signals, he might have thought that it boded no good to him.
“Is anybody here, Barney?” inquired Fagin, speaking—now that Sikes was looking on—without raising his eyes from the ground.
“Dot a shoul,” replied Barney, whose words, whether they came from the heart or not, made their way through the nose.
“Nobody?” inquired Fagin in a tone of surprise, which perhaps might mean that Barney was at liberty to tell the truth.