"Why should I mind?" questioned the Lascar, with a curious mixture of fierceness and humility in his voice. "My tongue's my own. I have nothing to lose: judge you if you have any thing to gain. Mind you, I stop at nothing. I am not squeamish. You are a gentleman; I am a vagabond. I can do what you daren't. I can help you to what you want, perhaps; and you can help me." The cunning of the Lascar was too deep for Mr. Fewster. The Lascar saw as clearly as if he had been told that Solomon Fewster loved Ellen Taylor, and he seized instinctively upon Ellen's love for Joshua as the lever by which he was to gain power over Mr. Fewster. In the present conversation the men were not evenly matched; the Lascar had all the advantage on his side. Subtle as Mr. Fewster was, his love blinded his judgment, and his hate led him to consider that this man might be useful to him. "I can help you, you tell me," he said. "How?" "I am cold to the bone," said the shivering wretch. "Treat me to some rum." They walked until they reached a public-house; then Mr. Fewster gave the Lascar money. "Go in and drink, but don't get drunk." "Ain't you coming in, master?" "No," said Mr. Fewster, with a look of contempt at the Lascar's tatters. "You can buy a bottle of rum, and bring it out with you. And mind, when you come out, don't walk by my side; follow me." Five minutes afterwards they were walking in single file towards Mr. Fewster's place of business, where he lived. When they arrived at the door, Mr. Fewster hesitated. He wanted to talk to the Lascar, to get out of him all he knew about Ellen and Joshua; yet, looking at the Lascar, he hesitated. The man divined what was in his mind, and said,-- "There is a policeman coming along on the other side of the way. Go to him and say, 'Look at this man; I have occasion to speak to him on a matter of business; but he is a disreputable dog, and I want you to watch the house. Knock in an hour, and if I don't answer, or if you hear any noise, force open the door.' Say that to him, or something like it, and give him a pint of beer, and you will be all right." "Come along," said Mr. Fewster, stung by the Lascar's quiet sneer; "I am not frightened of you." "You have no need to be, master. You can use me like a dog, if you give me to eat and drink." "Like a dog!" echoed Mr. Fewster, with a laugh. "Well, suppose I regard you in that light; it may be useful." Mr. Fewster struck a light in the shop, in which there were at least a score of coffins--respectable coffins, solemnly black as coffins should be, with respectable nails to match. "Waiting for tenants," he remarked, pleasantly, to the Lascar. "The cheap ones--common deal--are in the workshop at the back." Mr. Fewster put the candle down upon a coffin, and looked complacently upon his wares. "Handsome, are they not? This one, now, with lacquered handles and silvered plate for name, age, and virtues, what should you say to that?"