Fagin laughed, again emptying his glass.
"Easy enough. She's alone, except fer her father, and he can't get out of bed. We've got Jenks here, an' the damned old coward will do whatever I tell him."
"But she despises me—"
"Oh, no! We'll make you a victim. That will leave things in proper shape between yer two. We'll play it off as a drunken lark—eh, Jones? My God! it won't be the first time we've done the trick either. Do you remember that love-sick couple over at Tom's River, Ned? Never laughed so much in my life. This is a better one. Lord! but won't old Mortimer rave, an' mighty little good it will do him. Come, what do yer say, Grant? Are yer game?"
"Hell's fire—yes." He got to his feet, gripping the back of his chair. "Bring—bring 'em in; this is a good place."
Fagin struck the table with his fist.
"Of course it is, drink ter the bride after the ceremony. Bill, bring in the preacher."
It was growing daylight. I could perceive the glow of the sky out through the window, but the candles still sputtered on the table, casting grim lights and shadows on the faces of the three men. As Bill disappeared into the parlor, I stole silently back to the library door. What could be done was not entirely clear, but I proposed to defend Claire in every way possible.
"Tom," I whispered briefly, "find the boys, and bring them in here, through that broken window. They are in the orchard to the right, and there are no guards in front. Move lively, but be quiet."
"What is it, Major?" asked young Mortimer, eagerly.