“Oh, yes; had many a glass of wine there, when poor Charles was alive.”
“Rather a bit of mystery, that,” said the little man. “I put that and that together, and I set it down that he was trying the job on his own account, and muffed it.”
The shabby man shuddered, and took a hearty draught of his gin and water.
“There would be only us three in the game,” said the tall man softly, “and it would be share and share alike. Why, if we worked it right, it would set you up. Might take a pub on it.”
“Eh?” said the shabby man.
“I say you might take a pub—and drink yourself to death,” was added aside.
The little man winked at his tall companion, unobserved by the other, who looked dreamy.
“Bars at all the lower windows, eh?”
“Yes, yes. You couldn’t get in there,” was the quick reply.
“More ways of killing a cat than by hanging it. Look here, my lads, there’s a stable to let in the mews at the back.”