She shortly returned to the back-room, followed by Jacob.
"What news?" demanded Old Death.
"I found out where the Jewess lives," was the lad's answer; and he named the address in Great Ormond Street.
"Good!" exclaimed Bones. "That shows why she has her letters sent to Southampton Row;—it is close by; and as she's known in the neighbourhood, she posts her answers at another place. But give Jacob his supper—and brew me some grog, Betsy."
While Mrs. Bunce was busily employed in executing these orders, another knock at the front-door was heard. Jacob hastened to answer it, and returned with a letter directed to "Mr. Toby Bunce;" but which, having a peculiar mark placed somewhere amidst the writing, was instantly discovered by Old Death to be intended for himself.
He accordingly opened it, and read as follows:—
"Tim put on the tats yesterday and went out a durry-nakin on the shallows, gadding the hoof. He buzzed a bloak and a shakester of a yack and a skin. His jomen Mutton-Face Sal, with her moll-sack queering a raclan, stalled. A cross-cove, who had his regulars, tipped the office 'Cop Busy!' and Tim twigged that a pig was marking. So he speeled to the crib, while his jomen shoved her trunk too. To-day Tim sent the yack to church and christen; but the churchman came to it through poll, as Tim's shaler had slummed on him a sprat and an alderman last week. So Tim didn't fight cocum enough, and was grabbed. The skin had three finnips and a foont, which I've got at the padding-ken, T's 23, where I'll cop them to you for edging the gaff. A fly kidden-gonnoff will leave this flim.
"TWENTY-FIVE."
Old Death having read this singular composition to himself, threw it into the fire.
He then sate pondering for a few moments upon the course which he should pursue under the circumstances just made known to him.