Sir Richard helped himself to a leisurely pinch of snuff. “Just the Knuckle, eh?”
Jimmy gave a start, and looked at him with uneasy respect. “What would the likes of you know about the Knuckle?”
“Not very much, admittedly. I believe it means the filching of watches, snuff-boxes, and such-like from the pockets of the unsuspecting.”
“Here!” said Jimmy, looking very hard at him across the table, “you don’t work the Drop, do you?”
Sir Richard shook his head.
“You ain’t a Picker-up, or p’raps a Kidd?”
“No,” said Sir Richard. “I am quite honest—what you, I fancy, call a Flat.”
“I don’t!” Jimmy said emphatically. “I never met a flat what was so unaccountable knowing as what you are, guv’nor; and what’s more I hope I don’t meet one again!”
He watched Sir Richard rise to his feet, and kindle his bedroom candle at the guttering one on the table. He was frowning in a puzzled way, clearly uncertain in his mind. “Going to bed, guv’nor?”
Sir Richard glanced down at him. “Yes. I did warn you that I am a shockingly light sleeper, did I not?”