The first time, I overlooked the offence; but the second time, when I had planned to break open the house of his master, the fellow who visited you to-night,—Wood, the carpenter of Wych Street,—he betrayed me. Their talk drifted to the beauty of music, and they took that up again at tea-time. They set about everyone—everyone. ‘To begin with,’ he said, ‘allow me a very tiny intimacy. I am a murderer. ’ ‘Precisely. . ‘Kill him? Oh. And it has been well for you that he imagines the child was drowned. ‘I do not wish to hear any more reasons so foolish, so do not trouble to think of them. Aha!" he continued, producing a short silver staff, which he carried constantly about with him, and uttering a terrible imprecation, "I see you're confounded. We will find some way out of it. How long shall I be kept in this bed?" "That's particularly up to you. "Here, Tom," he added, calling to a shop-boy, "run and fetch a constable. .
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