Rainford ordered the fire to be lighted and a bottle of wine to be brought up; and when these instructions were complied with, he renewed the conversation with Jacob.
"And so nothing has been heard of Old Death?" he said, in as tranquil a manner as he could assume.
"Nothing," replied Jacob. "A man named Josh Pedler called at Bunce's this morning early, and wanted to see Mr. Bones, on account of a thief, known as Tim the Snammer, who was to go up before the magistrate to-day; and it appears that Mr. Bones had promised to get him off. Pedler was in a dreadful way when he heard that we hadn't seen any thing of the old man for two or three days; and he swore that it was all a hoax, and that Bones wanted to stick to the money that had been paid him, and shirk the job. Then comes a girl about an hour afterwards; and she said she was Tim the Snammer's wife—Mutton-faced Sal they call her;—and a deuce of a rumpus she made also."
"Do you know a person called Tidmarsh?" demanded Rainford, after a few moments' reflection—for he was anxious to learn if the boy were acquainted with the establishments in Turnmill and Red Lion Streets.
"I know him by name very well—and that's all," replied Jacob. "He is a fence, and lives somewhere in Clerkenwell. But pray tell me, Mr. Rainford, if you know what has become of the old man."
"I can tell you nothing about him, my boy," said the highwayman. "Surely he was not so very kind to you——"
"He kind! Oh! no—far from that!" cried Jacob, in a tone of evident sincerity. "But I was so dependant on him, that—unless I turn thief again—as I once was——"
He stopped short, and burst into tears.
"My poor lad," said Tom Rain, affected by this ebullition of grief on the part of the wretched boy, "if you are afraid of wanting bread, you may banish those alarms—at least for the present."
And he threw a handful of sovereigns upon the table.