“In complete ignorance, or we should ere this have heard of it. Of that, be assured, for I am quite sure, Britton, where we are going to-night, there is nothing to apprehend if we can secure Gray’s confession.”
“That will do. He dies, or my name ain’t Andrew Britton! Come—come—’tis time;” and they walked slowly towards Jacob Gray’s mean lodging.
Learmont spoke not as they went, but now and then Britton, when he thought of Jacob Gray, with all his deep cunning, being circumvented, would laugh to himself, and striking his thigh with his disengaged hand, would mutter, with the accompaniment of some fearful oath, his extreme satisfaction that he had borrowed the cleaver of Bond, and was in a fair way of trying it upon the skull of Gray, who he so cordially hated.
“Hush—hush,” Learmont said, as they neared the street: “hush, Britton! We must be cautious, for to all appearance the house in which Gray lives is filled with inhabitants. Even I do not know the room that he inhabits, except by guess, and that the guess of another.”
“That’s awkward,” said Britton: “but we’ll have him, squire, if he’s in the house. If I have to go from room to room, smashing somebody in each, I’ll have Jacob Gray at last!”
“Hush! This is the street. Have you the means of opening doors?”
“I have. Just hold the cleaver.”
Learmont took the weapon, while Britton diving his hand into his pocket, produced a bunch of skeleton keys, saying,—
“I’ll warrant with these to get at him even behind fifty locks.”
“Then understand me clearly,” said Learmont, in a low, husky voice; “I have arms about me should they be required; but you shall take Gray’s life while I secure you from all interruption by keeping guard at the door. Whatever money is found you shall possess yourself of, while I take possession of the confession, which must, surely, if at all in existence, come easily to hand. See here, I have a light.”