"What good would it do you to have the address of the writer, since she is dead and buried?" asked Mrs. Bunce.
"Because I could then visit the place where the woman was when she wrote this letter," replied Old Death. "I could make inquiries concerning the late Sarah Watts; and I know too well how to put two and two together not to arrive at some certainty in the long run."
"To be sure!" ejaculated Mrs. Bunce. "How clever you are, dear Ben."
"I don't know about being clever, Betsy my dear," returned the hideous old man; "but this I do think—that I'm rather wide awake."
And then he chuckled so heartily, while his toothless jaws wagged up and down so horribly, that he appeared to be a corpse under a process of galvanism; for if a dead body could be made to utter sounds, they would not be more sepulchral than those which now emanated from the throat of Old Death.
Mrs. Bunce considered it to be her duty to chuckle also; and her querulous tones seemed a humble accompaniment to the guttural sounds which we have attempted to describe.
At length the chuckling ceased on both sides; and Mrs. Bunce replenished the mugs with hot gin-and-water.
"But even as it is," suddenly observed Old Death, after a hasty glance at the letter, which he now slowly folded up and returned to his greasy pocket-book,—"but even as it is, we may still make something of the business. If we could only find a clue to the mother of that boy, it would be a fortune in itself. I tell you what we must do!" he exclaimed emphatically.
"What?" asked his ancient mistress.
"Get that boy into our own keeping," replied Bones, with a sly smile; "and then we can pump him of all he may happen to know concerning the deceased Sarah Watts."