"Nobody left nothin' lyin' round loose, I s'pose," says Siebel with a coarse laugh, as he pockets the price of his day's labor. "Wal, ye've come ter a poor place for sympathy, gal." And he rises slowly and shuffles toward the door. But Papa makes a gesture to stay him. "Hold on, Josef!" he cries; "wait Nance!" He seizes the bag, hurries it away into an inner room, and returns panting for breath. Drawing a stool toward the table, he perches himself thereon and leers across at the two sneak thieves. "So ye ain't had any luck, girl?" he says, in a wheedling tone, "and Josef, here, wants money. Do ye want more than ye've got Josef?" "Ha ha! _Do_ I?" And Josef slaps his pockets suggestively. "Now listen, both of you. Suppose, I could help you two to earn some money easy and honest, what then?" "Easy and _honest_!" repeats Siebel, with a snort of derision; "Oh, Lord!" But the girl leans forward with hungry eyes, saying eagerly: "How? tell us how." "I'll tell you. Suppose, just suppose, a certain rich lady--_very_ rich, mind--being a little in my debt, should come here to-night to see me. And suppose she is very anxious not to be seen by any body--on account of her high position, you know--" "Oh, lip it livelier!" cries Siebel impatiently. "Stow yer swash." "Well; suppose you and Nance, here, was to come in sudden and see the lady face to face, why, for fear she might be called on by--say by Nance, she might pay a little, don't you see--" But Siebel breaks in impatiently: "Oh, skip the rubbish! Is there any body to bleed?" "Is it a safe lay?" queries Nance. "Yes, yes; it's safe, of course," cries Papa, thus compelled to come down to plain facts. "Then let's get down to business. Do you expect an angel's visit here to-night?" "Yes." "Well, what's yer plan? Out with it: Nance and I are with ye, if ye divvy fair." Beckoning them to come closer, Papa Francoise leans across the table, and sinking his voice to a harsh whisper, unfolds the plan by which, without danger to themselves, they are to become richer. It is a pretty plan but--"_Man sows; a whirlwind reaps._" CHAPTER XV. A COUNTERPLOT. It is a half hour later. The light in the room is increased by a sputtering additional candle, and Papa Francoise, sitting by the deal table, is gazing toward the door, an eager expectant look upon his face. "If that old woman were here!" he mutters, and then starts forward at the sound of a low hesitating tap. Hurrying to the door he unbars it with eager haste, and a smile of blandest delight overspreads his yellow face as the new-comer enters. It is a woman, slender and graceful; a _lady_, who holds up her trailing black garments daintily as she steps across the threshold, repulsing the proffered hand-clasp with a haughty gesture, and gliding away from him while she says in a tone of distressful remonstrance: "Man, _why_ have you sent for me? Don't you know that there is such a thing as a last straw?"