"Of course I do."
"And what does it mean?"
"'Among the lemons' is magsman's patter for 'Houndsditch.' There's a reg'lar gatherin' of sheenies there every Sunday mornin', where they have a kind of fair, and sellin' all sorts of things,--clothes, and books, and pictures, and so on."
"Well, but old Lyons is a cut above all that sort of thing."
"I should think he was."
"He wouldn't be found there."
"Well, not sellin' anything; but he might be on the lookout for some magsmen as work for him, and who may have had the office to be about there. But if he's not there, I'd know where to lay hands on him, I'd take my oath."
"Where's that?"
"At the Net of Lemons, a public where sheenies of all kinds--diamond-merchants, fences, all sorts--meet on the Sunday."
"Do you know the place?"