"You need not set foot in the water," said the Resurrection Man, somewhat impatiently. "But I suppose you could hold him by the heels fast enough upon the bank?"
"Oh! yes—I don't mind that," replied the Buffer: "but how shall we get the thirty-one couters from this old fool of a landlady, unless we use violence?"
The Resurrection Man leant his head upon his hand, his elbow being supported by the table, and reflected profoundly for some moments.
So high an opinion did the other villain and the two women entertain of the ingenuity, craft, and cunning of the Resurrection Man, that they observed a solemn silence while he was thus occupied in meditation,—as if they were afraid of interrupting a current of ideas which, they hoped, would lead to some scheme beneficial to them all.
Suddenly the Resurrection Man raised his head, and, turning towards the Buffer's wife, said, "Do you know whether the old woman has spoken to any one yet about the funeral?"
"She said she should let it be till to-morrow morning, because the weather was so awful bad this afternoon."
"Excellent!" ejaculated the Resurrection Man. "Now, Moll, do you put on your bonnet, take the large cotton umbrella there, and go and do what I tell you without delay."
The woman rose to put on her bonnet and cloak, which she had laid aside upon first entering the room; and the Resurrection Man wrote a hurried note. Having folded, wafered, and addressed it, he handed it to the Buffer's wife, saying, "Go down as fast as your legs will carry you to Banks, the undertaker, in Globe Lane, and ask to see him. Give him this; but mind and deliver it into his hand only. If he is not at home, wait till he comes in."
The woman took the note, and departed on the mysterious mission entrusted to her.
"What's in the wind now?" demanded the Buffer, as soon as the door had closed behind his wife.