"Well," said Old Death, as he sipped his liquor complacently, "I suppose we shall have no difficulty in managing this little job by-and-by? Jacob watched all day long in Great Ormond Street, until we joined him to come over here; and the Jewess never stirred out once—did she, Jacob?"
"No—not once," was the answer.
"But you knew that she was at home?"
"Yes: because I saw her at the window for a moment, every now and then," replied the lad, speaking without averting his eyes from the street.
"Good!" exclaimed Old Death. "It is not at all likely that she has come over to Tom's lodgings this evening, or that she will come—'specially after the long sermon she wrote——"
Bones checked himself; for he was not in the habit of being communicative with Toby Bunce; and Toby, on his side, never sought to pry into the motives or designs of the old fence by whom he was made so complete a tool.
"Who is there in the house besides Mr. Rainford and the boy?" asked Toby, after a pause.
"Only the old widow woman that keeps it," responded Mr. Benjamin Bones.
"There!" cried Jacob, suddenly: "the door opens—and Mr. Rainford comes out! He's gone."
"All right!" said Old Death. "I suppose he's going for his horse, wherever he keeps it."