'Give me the money, Bladergrass; give me the money, or you might get into trouble too!' He tore the money out of her pocket; when he came in he had given it to her to keep house with. Then he cried, 'The purse! Where's the purse? Throw it out on the tiles--put it on the fire!' 'I 'aven't got it, Tom,' answered Blade-o'-Grass hurriedly, her knees knocking together with fright. 'What's up?' 'The peelers! Don't you 'ear 'em? Curse the light! why did it go out? If they see the purse, I'm done for!' They groped about in the dark, but could not find it For a moment the steps halted outside the door. Then it opened, and the strong light from the policemen's bull's-eye lamps was thrown upon the crouching forms of Tom Beadle and Blade-o'-Grass. 'You're up late, Tom,' said one of the policemen. 'Yes,' said Tom doggedly, and with a pale face; 'I was jist goin' to bed.' The policeman nodded carelessly, and kept his eye upon Tom, while his comrade searched about the room. 'Got any money, Tom?' 'What's that to you?' 'Come, come; take it easy, my lad. You haven't been long out, you know.' 'And what o' that?' exclaimed Tom, beginning to gather courage, for the policeman's search was almost at an end, and nothing was found. 'You can't take me up for not bein' long out.' 'But we can for this,' said the second policeman, lifting a purse from the mantelshelf. 'Is this yours, sir?' A man, who had been lingering by the door, came forward and looked at the purse by the light of the lamp. 'Yes, it is mine.' 'And is this the party?'--throwing the light full upon Tom Beadle's face. He bore it boldly; he knew well enough that the game was up. 'I can't say; the purse was snatched out of my hand suddenly, and I didn't see the face of the thief. I followed him, as I told you, and saw him run down this alley.' 'And a nice hunt we've had! Been in a dozen houses, and only came to the right one at last. How much was in the purse, sir, did you say?' 'Twenty-three shillings--a half-sovereign, and the rest in silver.' 'Now, Tom, turn out your pockets.' Tom did so without hesitation. A half-sovereign and twelve shillings were placed on the table. 'Just the money, with a shilling short. What have you been having for supper, Tom?' 'Trotters.' 'Ay; and what was in the bottle?' 'Gin, of course.' 'Trotters, fourpence; gin, eightpence. That's how the other shilling's gone, sir. Come along, Tom; this'll be a longer job than the last.' As Tom nodded sullenly, Blade-o'-Grass, who had listened to the conversation with a face like the face of death, sank to the ground in a swoon. The policemen's hands were on Tom, and he struggled to get from them. 'Come, come, my lad,' said one, shaking him roughly; 'that's no good, you know. Best go quietly.' 'I want to go quietly,' cried Tom, with a great swelling in his throat that almost choked his words; 'but don't you see she's fainted? Let me go to her for a minute. I hope I may drop down dead if I try to escape!'