Skirting the tent, I came round to the opening, and stooping, peered cautiously inside. There, sure enough, was my pickpocket gazing intently into the open purse, and chuckling as he gazed. Then he slipped it into his pocket, and out he came—where I immediately pinned him by the neckerchief.
And, after a while, finding he could not again break my hold, he lay still, beneath me, panting, and, as he lay, his one eye glared more balefully and his other leered more waggishly than ever, as I, thrusting my hand into his pocket, took thence the purse, and transferred it to my own.
"Halves, mate!" he panted, "halves, and we'll cry 'quits.'"
"By no means," said I, rising to my feet, but keeping my grip upon him.
"Then what's your game?"
"I intend to hand you over as a pickpocket."
"That means 'Transportation'!" said he, wiping the blood from his face, for the struggle, though short, had been sharp enough.
"Well?" said I.
"It'll go 'ard with the babby."
"Baby!" I exclaimed.