‘No one better, worse luck.’
‘You was one of the swells as come here, you and Birnie and Gurth Egerton and his cousin Ralph, and you all used to chaff my gal and pretend to make love to her, and all that sort of bosh.’
‘But she always kept us at a distance; she was as savage as a little tiger if any of us spoke too freely to her.’
‘I know it, and that’s why I trusted her among you, for you were as fast a lot of young rascals as could be found in London at that time, and there wasn’t one of you as had a mag to fly with, except what you got out of Ralph, for you was all dead broke.’
‘You knew it?’
‘Yes, I knew it, and I didn’t pertend to be a gentleman.
Everybody knew what I was; it was my business to live on greenhorns and fools. You was amatoors. You pertended to be gentlemen, and you brought a pal here and made him drunk night after night, and robbed him.’
‘You had your share.’
‘I don’t say I didn’t. Well, what happened? One night, at the old drum, there was a big row, the lights were knocked over, and in the darkness some one stabbed Ralph Egerton. Who, nobody knows, except the man as did it. He was taken away and he died at his own place soon after, and was buried, and nobody knew anything about it, thank God! but them as was mixed up in it.’
‘Birnie managed that affair deuced well,’ said Marston.