“In half an hour,” was the cool reply. And the Honorable George while making it managed at the same time in a sauntering sort of way to put himself between Robinson and the door that led out into the garden. Robinson eyed him in silence and never moved.
“In half a hour. That is a fair bet,” said Mr. Miles. “Shall I take him?”
“Better not; he is a knowing one. He has seen him to earth somewhere or he would not offer you such a bet.”
“Well, I'll bet you five to three,” proposed the Honorable George.
“Done!”
“Done!”
Robinson put in a hasty word: “And what is to become of Thimble-rig Jem, sir?” These words, addressed to Mr. Lascelles, produced a singular effect. That gentleman gave an immediate shiver, as if a bullet had passed clean through him and out again, then opened his eyes and looked first at one door then at the other as if hesitating which he should go by. Robinson continued, addressing him with marked respect, “What I mean, sir, is that there is a government reward of two hundred pounds for Thimble-rig Jem, and the police wouldn't like to be drawn away from two hundred pounds after a poor fellow like him you saw on Monday night, one that is only suspected and no reward offered. Now Jem is a notorious culprit.”
“Who is this Jem, my man? What is he?” asked Mr. Lascelles with a composure that contrasted remarkably with his late emotion.
“A convict escaped from Norfolk Island, sir; an old offender. I fell in with him once. He has forgotten me I dare say, but I never forget a man. They say he has grown a mustache and whiskers and passes himself off for a nob; but I could swear to him.”
“How? By what?” cried Mr. Miles.