The shabby man looked up quickly.
“I had a look at it to-day. Any one could easily get to that window looking on the leads.”
“But that’s the window where—”
“Well, dead men tell no tales, and they don’t get in the way. That’s the place.”
“Oh, no,” said the shabby man.
“Bah! you’re not afraid. I tell you it would be as easy as easy. You can give me a plan of the place, and all about it, and—why, it’s child’s play, my lad, and won’t hurt anybody. Take everything out of that stable, and have a cart in the coach-house. I say—touch that bell again, old man—you are not going to let a fortune slip through your fingers, I know.”
The three occupants of the corner soon after rose to go, halting half-way down the street, where the tall man said:—
“There’s half a sovereign to keep the cold out till then. Twelve o’clock, mind, punctual.”
The shabby man slouched away, while the little fellow rubbed his hands.
“There’s half a ton of it there,” he whispered.