“In course—though hang me if I know you. I thought I knew all the hands on town; but I never clapped eyes on your paste-pot of a mug before.”
Gray replaced his pistol, as he assumed a sickly smile, and said,—
“Then I have really found a friend?”
“A friend! Ah, to be sure you have. I say, I’ll tell you what we’ll do. We’ll wait till the enemy is gone, and then I’ll poke you out on the roof, and you can get in at Bill Splasher’s attic. It’s only across a dozen houses or so. He’ll let you out then by the cellars of Somerset House, and you’ll be as safe as any gentleman need wish to be.”
“I thank you,” said Gray. “I am now faint and weary.”
“Sit down then,” cried the man. “Don’t stand upon ceremony here. I suppose you’ve been at some fakement of value—eh?”
“Yes, yes—a robbery,” said Gray, who thought it best to fall in with the humour of his new friend.
“Plenty o’ swag?”
“A trifle, a mere trifle.”
“Never mind, better luck next time,” cried the man dealing Gray an encouraging blow upon the back that nearly took his breath away.