"What's the meaning of this, Tom?" said the Cracksman's companion, who was no other than the Resurrection Man: "you don't mean to say that you know this fellow?"
"He's the one that we did the job for last night on the Richmond road," answered the Cracksman.
"And he's got plenty of tin," added the Resurrection Man significantly. "We can perhaps make a better bargain with him than what Stephens has promised us for this night's business."
"Yes—but we can't talk here," returned the Cracksman: "so come along. I've got my plan all cut and dry."
Greenwood conveyed several intimations, by means of signs, that he wished to speak; but the two ruffians hurried him out of the house.
They conducted him across the fields to an empty barn at a distance of about a mile from the villa. During the journey thither they conversed together in a flash language altogether unintelligible to their captive, who was still gagged. A difference of opinion evidently seemed to subsist between the two men, relative to the plan which they should pursue with regard to Greenwood; but they at length appeared to agree upon the point.
With regard to Greenwood himself, he was a prey to a variety of painful feelings,—disappointment in his designs upon Eliza at the moment when he appeared to stand upon the threshhold of success,—bitter malignity against Stephens who had thus duped him,—and alarm at the uncertainty of the fate which might await him at the hands of the villains in whose power he thus strangely found himself.
The night was pitch-dark; but the moment the two ruffians with their captive entered the barn, a lantern in the hands of the Cracksman was suddenly made to throw a bright light forwards.
That light fell upon the countenance of Stephens, who was standing in the middle of the shed.
"All right," said the Cracksman. "We pinioned the bird without trouble; and he ain't a strange one, neither."