The old woman hesitated for a few moments: she knew not whether it were prudent to tell the truth to her new friend, who so deliberately announced himself as a gentleman exercising a profession which could not possibly be characterised by any particular scruples or punctilios.
“Well—just as you like, ma’am,” said Jack, rising from his seat. “By declaring on to the swag,[16] I may get my reglars[17] from the two prigs, whom I can easily trace out; and therefore, if you are afraid to trust me, I shall be off at once. In this case, mind, you will never see a penny of the money you have lost.”
“Stay, Mr. Rily—stay!” exclaimed Mrs. Mortimer, who perfectly comprehended the man’s meaning, which was to the effect that he might obtain some of the booty for himself without her co-operation; whereas she could not recover a shilling unless assisted by him.
The burglar coolly reseated himself.
“You asked me of how much I was robbed?” she said, interrogatively.
“Yes,” was the laconic response.
“Five thousand four hundred pounds,” observed Mrs. Mortimer.
“My stars! is it possible?” exclaimed Rily, his horrible countenance expanding with delight.
“It is the truth, I can assure you,” rejoined the old woman.
“Five thousand four hundred pounds,” repeated the burglar, in a slow and measured tone, as if to prolong the enjoyment of the sweet music which the mention of such a sum made for his auricular sense.