“What then!” replied Sikes with a tremendous oath. “If he was left alive till I came, I’d grind his skull under the iron heel of my boot into as many grains as there are hairs upon his head.”
“What if I did it!” cried the Jew almost in a yell. “I, that know so much, and could hang so many besides myself!”
“I don’t know,” replied Sikes, clenching his teeth and turning white at the mere suggestion. “I’d do something in the jail that ’ud get me put in irons; and if I was tried along with you, I’d fall upon you with them in the open court, and beat your brains out afore the people. I should have such strength,” muttered the robber, poising his brawny arm, “that I could smash your head as if a loaded waggon had gone over it.”
“You would.”
“Would I!” said the housebreaker. “Try me.”
“If it was Charley, or the Dodger, or Bet, or——”
“I don’t care who,” replied Sikes impatiently. “Whoever it was, I’d serve them the same.”
Fagin again looked hard at the robber, and motioning him to be silent, stooped over the bed upon the floor, and shook the sleeper to rouse him. Sikes leant forward in his chair, looking on with his hands upon his knees as if wondering much what all this questioning and preparation was to end in.
“Bolter, Bolter. Poor lad!” said Fagin, looking up with an expression of devilish anticipation, and speaking slowly and with marked emphasis. “He’s tired—tired with watching for her so long,—watching for her, Bill.”
“Wot d’ye mean?” asked Sikes, drawing back.