“What man?”
“How should we know? He came in upon us; we did our best to save the gentleman, and the scurvy dog wouldn’t give us a penny to buy pins.”
“Came out, you mean,” said I; “the old story, ‘the great unknown.’ Yet I think I know him.”
Just as I was speaking, I felt some small object under my foot, and stooping down found a small gold watch-key. The women looked sharp to try and find out what I had picked up and put into my pocket, but they said nothing, neither did I.
“Come,” said I. “The gentleman is in the Office, and wishes to thank you for trying to save his life.”
“Umph, and true, by ——,” said the reprobate.
“A terrible fellow this ‘unknown,’ ” said I, rather by way of amusing myself as they were getting equipped. “Don’t pare your nails, for I intend to introduce him to you.”
And proceeding to make a search, which I knew would be attended by no greater result than a mocking laugh from my lasses, I was forced to be content with my small recovery of the gold key.
I marched them up to quarters where they had been before. It was too late that night to go after Kidd. I was sure enough of him, and an early catch was of no use as regarded the recovery of the watch, which I knew he would not carry with him a moment longer than he could find a hiding-place for it, and that he would find far more readily than one for himself.
Next morning some of the constables, who knew where Kidd’s mother lived in the Pleasance, thought very wisely they might help me in their way by searching the house. This they accordingly did before I was well out of bed; but their report was unfavourable. He was not in the house, and the mother denied all knowledge of her worthless son. I have often had reports of this kind made to me before, but I have been always fond of making my own searches. So away I went to do the work over again; but, to say the truth, I had little hope. It was as early as nine.