He controlled this ebullition of ill-timed mirth, however, and listened attentively.
"There don't seem much else beside lots of clothes," said one of the men, "and hats, and sticks, and umbrellas."
"Ah!" said the other, "and they all belong to the murdered men that Todd cut up to make pies of!"
"Horrible!—horrible!"
"You may say that, old friend. It's only a great pity that Sir Richard has so expressly forbid anything to be touched in the old crib, or else there's some nice enough things here, I should say, that would make a fellow warm and comfortable in the winter nights."
"Not a doubt of that. Here's a cloak, now!"
"A beauty—quite a beauty, I say. He can't know what is really here. Do you think he can?"
"What, Sir Richard?"
"Yes."
"Oh, don't he. I wouldn't venture to touch so much as an old hat here, for I should feel, as sure as fate, he'd find it out."