The Jew affected to laugh very heartily; and Mr. Bolter, having had his laugh out, took a series of large bites, which finished his first hunk of bread and butter, and assisted himself to a second.
“I want you, Bolter,” said Fagin, leaning over the table, “to do a piece of work for me, my dear, that needs great care and caution.”
“I say,” rejoined Bolter, “don’t yer go shoving me into danger, or sending me to any more police-offices. That don’t suit me, that don’t; and so I tell yer.”
“There’s not the smallest danger in it—not the very smallest,” said the Jew; “it’s only to dodge a woman.”
“An old woman?” demanded Mr. Bolter.
“A young one,” replied Fagin.
“I can do that pretty well, I know,” said Bolter. “I was a regular cunning sneak when I was at school. What am I to dodge her for? not to—”
“Not to do anything,” interrupted the Jew, “but to tell me where she goes to, who she sees, and, if possible, what she says; to remember the street, if it is a street, or the house, if it is a house, and to bring me back all the information you can.”
“What’ll yer give me?” asked Noah, setting down his cup, and looking his employer eagerly in the face.
“If you do it well, a pound, my dear—one pound,” said Fagin, wishing to interest him in the scent as much as possible. “And that’s what I never gave yet for any job of work where there wasn’t valuable consideration to be gained.”