The clock struck mid-day when Holford entered the parlour of the boozing-ken.
CHAPTER LXIII.
THE PLOT.
"Well, young blade," cried the Cracksman, "you haven't kept us waiting at all, I suppose?"
"And do you fancy that I could wake myself up again in a minute when I had once laid down?" demanded the lad, sulkily.
"Oh! bother to the laying down, Harry," said the Cracksman. "Don't you think me and Tony wants sleep as well as a strong hearty young feller like you? and we haven't put buff in downy[74] since the night afore last."
"Well, never mind chaffing about that," cried the Resurrection Man impatiently: then, having dismissed the waiter, he continued, "Now, about this business at the palace? We must have no delay; and when we make appointments in future, they must be better kept. But I won't speak of this one now, because there's some allowance to be made for you, as you were up the best part of the night, and you ain't accustomed to it as we are. But to the point. How is this affair to be managed?"
"I don't see how it is to be managed at all," answered Holford, firmly.
"The devil you don't," cried the Cracksman.
"Then what was you doing all that time in the palace?"
"Running a thousand risks of being found out every minute——"