"Oh, no! let him earn the reward, and he shall have it in full," exclaimed Sir Francis. "To be sure," said the new-comer. "There, Jack, do you hear? All fair and above-board. Money down as soon as the gentleman is found--_by your information, mind_." "Well, never mind about no informations," growled Screwby; "if I find him, eh?" "Yes, if you find the gentleman." "Dead or alive?" said Screwby, brutally. "Dead or alive," said the new-comer, turning, as did also Clayton, to glance at Sir Francis Redgrave, who was very pale, but who remained unmoved, save for the corners of his mouth, which twitched sharply. Mr John Screwby evidently had great faith in his own powers as a reader of physiognomy, for he glanced from one to the other, and allowed his eyes to rest long upon each face; then he had a long stare at the door, and another at the window, as if meditating flight, or probably from his foxy wild-beast-like nature, which prompted him to mistrust everybody, and to have both an avenue of entrance and another for escape. Then he took another vicious rub at his nose, and refreshed himself with a nibble at his cap, off which he evidently obtained a few woolly scraps; but at last he allowed his furtive-looking eyes to rest upon the new-comer, who had been all the time thoughtfully tapping his teeth with his pencil, and apparently taking not the slightest notice of him whatever. The fellow then prepared to speak, by hitching himself closer to the stranger, who only gave him a nod, which was interpreted to mean--"Stay where you are!" For Mr John Screwby stood shuffling from foot to foot, and then placed his hand before his mouth, to direct the flow of his discourse only into the stranger's ear. "Speak out, Jack!" said the latter, coolly; "you needn't be afraid." "Who's afeard?" growled Jack, sourly. "Oh! not you, Jack, of course," said the other; "you've a heart above that sort of thing, you know." "You're gallus witty, you are," growled Jack, below his breath. "Well, speak up, Jack; the gentlemen would like to hear what you have to say, I'm sure." "Look ye here, then, Master Falkner," said Jack, in a hoarse whisper, that sounded as harsh and grating as the sharpening of a saw,--"look ye here; that there young chap's been hanging about D. Wragg's crib for months past." "To be sure he has, Jack--to be sure; we know that; and what does it mean? Pigeons, or rats, or dogs, or something of that sort, eh?" Mr Falkner, sergeant of police, half closed his eyes as he spoke, and thrust his hands beneath his coat-tails, as, with head on one side, he waited to hear further news.