"Well, you know I wouldn't like to give up the things on an uncertainty. They are very valuable. I would require some order from your father."
"Yes'r."
Mr. Gillis asked a number of questions of the boy, to which he responded without hesitation, and then left the room again, saying that he would go and make out Mr. Brown's bill.
He was gone a long time. The boy amused himself by staring at the things in the room, at the ornaments, and pictures, and began to think that Mr. Gillis was never coming back, when at last footsteps were heard in the hall, the door opened, and Mr. Gillis entered, followed by two other men. One of these men had the face of a prizefighter, or a ticket-of-leave man, with abundance of black hair and beard; his eyes were black and piercing, and his face was the same which has already been described as the face of Black Bill. But he was respectably dressed in black, he wore a beaver hat, and had lost something of his desperate air. The fact is, the police had taken Black Bill into their employ, and he was doing very well in his new occupation. The other was a sharp, wiry man, with a cunning face and a restless, fidgety manner. Both he and Black Bill looked carefully at the boy, and at length the sharp man spoke:
"You young rascal, do you know who I am?"
The boy started and looked aghast, terrified by such an address.
"No, Sir," he whimpered.
"Well, I'm Thomas S. Davis, detective. Do you understand what that means?"
"Yes'r," said the boy, whose self-possession completely vanished at so formidable an announcement.
"Come now, young fellow," said Davis, "you've got to own up. Who are you?"