The Madam seized him by the arm.
"Two men have just left this house. One wears a cap,—the other, a hat. The one with the cap and cloak is the shortest of the two; and the one with a cap carries under his cloak a book, bound in red morocco, which he has just stolen from yonder desk. D'ye hear? I want you to track him and get back that book at any price; even if you have to—"
"Fech him up wid dis?" and the ruffian drew a "slung-shot" from the sleeve of his right arm.
"Yes, yes; anyhow, or by any means," continued the Madam; "only bring back the book before morning, and a hundred dollars are yours. D'ye hear?"
"A shortish chap with a cap an' cloak," exclaimed Slung; "there's a good many shortish chaps with caps in this 'ere town, old woman."
"I have it! I have it!" cried the Madam; and then she conveyed her instructions to Slung in a slow and measured voice. "Don't you think you'd know him now?" she exclaimed, when her instructions were complete.
"Could pick 'im out among a thousand." And the ruffian closed one eye, and increased the boundless ugliness of his face, by an indescribable grimace.
"Go then,—no time's to be lost,—a hundred dollars, you mind;" and she urged him to the door. He clutched the slung-shot and disappeared.
Corkins approached and looked the Madam in the face.
"The red book gone?" he asked, every line of his visage displaying astonishment and terror.