"Nor the old butler?" asked the Resurrection Man.
"Not a bit. But do jest satisfy me on one point, Tony; how come you to know that anythink about this young feller's brother would produce such a powerful excitement?"
"Have I not before told you that this Richard Markham was a fellow-prisoner with me in Newgate some four years and more ago? Well, I often overheard him talking about his affairs to another man that was also there, and whose name was Armstrong. Markham and this Armstrong were very thick together; and Markham spoke quite openly to him about his family matters, his brother, and one thing or another. That's the way I came to hear of the strange appointment made between the two brothers."
"Well, there's no doubt that the fish has bit and can be hooked to-morrow night," said the Buffer.
"Yes—he is within my reach—and now I shall be revenged," exclaimed the Resurrection Man, grinding his teeth together. "I will tell you my plans in this respect presently," he added. "Let us now talk about the old man that your wife nurses."
"Or did nurse, rather," cried Moll, with a coarse laugh.
Both the Resurrection Man and Margaret Flathers turned a glance of inquiry and surprise upon the Buffer's wife.
"The old fellow's dead," she added, after a moment's pause.
"Dead already!" exclaimed Tidkins.
"Just as I tell you," answered Moll. "He seemed very sinking and low this morning; and so I was more attentive to him than ever."
"But the money?" said the Resurrection Man.
"All a dream on her part," cried the Buffer, sulkily, pointing towards his wife.
"Now don't you go for to throw all the blame on me, Jack," retorted the woman; "for you know as well as I do that you was as sanguine as me. And who wouldn't have taken him for an old miser? Here you and me," she continued, addressing herself to her husband, "go to hire a lodging in a home in Smart Street, about three months ago, and we find out that there's an old chap living overhead, on the first floor, who had been there three months before that time, and had always lived in the same regular, quiet way—never going out except after dusk, doing nothing to earn his bread, paying his way, and owing nobody a penny. Then he was dressed in clothes that wasn't worth sixpence, and yet he had gold to buy others if he chose, because he used to change a sovereign every week, when he paid his rent. Well, all these things put together, made me think he was a miser, and had a store somewhere or another; and when I said to you——"
"I know what you said, fast enough," interrupted the Buffer, sulkily: "what's the use of telling us all this over again?
"Just to show that if I was deceived, you was too. But it's always the way with you: when any thing turns out wrong, you throw the blame on me. Didn't you say to me, when the old fellow was took ill a month ago: 'Moll,' says you, 'go and offer your services to nurse the old gentleman; and may be if he dies he'll leave you something; or at all events you may worm out of him the secret of where he keeps his money, and we can get hold of it all the same.' That's what you said—and so I did go and nurse the old man; and he seemed very grateful, for at last he began to like me almost as much as he did his snuff-box—and that's saying a great deal, considering the quantity of snuff he used to take, and the good it seemed to do him when he was low and melancholy."
"Well—what's the use of you and the Buffer wrangling?" cried the Resurrection Man. "Tell us all about the old fellow's death."
"As I was saying just now," continued Moll, "the old gentleman was took wery bad this morning soon after Jack left to go up to Holloway; and the landlady, Mrs. Smith, insisted on sending for a doctor. The old gentleman shook his head, when he heard Mrs. Smith say so, and seemed wery, much annoyed at the idea of having a medical visit. But Mrs. Smith was positive, for she said that she had lost her husband and been left a lone widder through not having a doctor in time to him when he was ill. Well, a doctor was sent for, and he said that the old gentleman was very bad indeed. He asked me and Mrs. Smith what his name was, and whether he'd any relations, as they ought to be sent for; but Mrs. Smith said that she never knowed his name at all, and as for relations no one never come to see him and he never went to see no one his-self. The doctors orders him to have mustard poultices put to his feet; but it wasn't of no use, for the old fellow gives a last gasp and dies at twenty minutes past two this blessed afternoon."
"Well," said the Resurrection Man; "and then, I suppose, you had a rummage in his boxes?"
"Boxes, indeed!" cried Moll, with an indignant toss of her head. "Why, when he first come to the house, Mrs. Smith says that all he had was a bundle tied up in a blue cotton pocket handkercher—a couple of shirts, and a few pair of stockings, or so. She didn't like to take him in, she says; but he offered to pay a month's rent in advance; and so she was satisfied."
"Then you found nothing at all?" exclaimed the Rattlesnake.
"Not much," returned Moll. "The moment we saw he was dead, we began to search all over the room, to see what he had left behind him. For a long time we could find nothing but a dirty shirt, two pair of stockings, and a jar of snuff; and yet Mrs. Smith said she knew there must be money, for she had heard him counting his gold one day before he was took ill. Besides, during his illness, whenever money was wanted to get any thing for him, he never gave it at first, but sent me or Mrs. Smith out of the room with some excuse; and when we went back, he always had the money in his hand. Well, me and Mrs. Smith searched and searched away; and at last Mrs. Smith bethinks herself of looking behind the bed. We moved the bed away from the wall as well as we could, for the dead body lying upon it made it precious heavy; and then we saw that a hole had been made down in the comer of the room. Mrs. Smith puts in her finger, and draws out an old greasy silk purse. I heard the gold chink; but I saw that the purse was not over heavy. 'Well,' says Mrs. Smith, 'I'm glad I've got a witness of what the poor gentleman left behind him, or else I might get into trouble some day or another, if any inquiries should be made.' So she pours out the gold into her hand, and counts thirty-nine sovereigns."
"And that was all?" cried the Resurrection Man.
"Every farthing," replied the Buffer's wife. "Well, I asked Mrs. Smith what she intended to do with it; and she says, 'I shall bury the poor old gentleman decently: that will be five pounds. Then there is a pound for the doctor, as I must get him to follow the funeral; and here is two pounds for you for your attention to the old gentleman in his illness.' So she gives me the two pounds; and I asks her what she is going to do with the rest, because there was still thirty-one pounds left."
"And what did she say to that?" demanded the Rattlesnake.
"She began a long ditty about her being an honest woman, though a poor one, and that dead man's gold would only bring ill-luck into her house."
"The old fool!" cried the Resurrection Man.
"And then she said she should ask the parson, when she had buried the old man, what she ought to do with the thirty-one pounds."
"Why didn't you propose to split it between you, and hold your tongues?" asked the Resurrection Man.
"So I did," answered Moll; "and what do you think the old fool said? She up and told me that she always thought that me and my husband was not the most respectablest of characters, and she now felt convinced of it."
"Well, we must have those thirty-one yellow boys, old fellow," said the Resurrection Man to the Buffer.
"Yea—if we can get them," answered the latter; "and I know of no way to do it but to cut the old woman's throat."
"No—that won't do," ejaculated the Resurrection Man. "If the old woman disappeared suddenly, suspicion would be sure to fall on you; and the whole Happy Valley would be up in arms. Then the blue-bottles might find a trace to this crib here; and we should all get into trouble."
"But if you mean to put the kyebosh upon young Markham to-morrow night," said the Buffer, "won't that raise a devil of a dust in the neighbourhood?"
"Markham