"I sometimes forget to do it now. I guess I can get along without it for a day or two. Now, how much are you going to ask for all this?" "Seventy-five dollars." "It's a good deal." "How long would you get if you got took?" asked Jacob, significantly. "You're right. It's worth the money. But I can't pay you now, Jacob." "You won't forget it," said the old man, composedly, for he expected this, since Marlowe's attempt at burglary had been unsuccessful. "You'll pay me when you can." "Shiver my timbers, messmate, but I will!" "Good!" said the old man. "You're getting it." "I don't think those landlubbers--the cops--will know me in this rig-out." "Better. You'll do." "Well, Jacob, I'll pay you as soon as I can. By the way, haven't you any place where you can stow me for the night? It won't do for me to go back to Jack's room; it's too hot for me." "Lay down anywhere," said Jacob. "I haven't got any bed; I lie down on the clothes." "That'll do; I ain't used to bridal-chambers or silk counterpanes. I am as tired as a dog. Here goes!" He flung himself down in a corner on an indiscriminate pile of clothing, and in five minutes was breathing deeply, and fast asleep. Had he been a novice in his illegal profession, the two narrow escapes he had just had, and the risk which, in spite of his disguise he at present run, would have excited him and prevented his sleeping; but he was an old hand and used to danger. It was not the first time he had eluded the authorities, and was not likely to be the last, so he fell asleep upon his strange couch, and slept as unconcernedly as an infant. The old man did not immediately lie down. He held up and examined attentively the suit Marlowe had thrown oft, which, according to custom, became his perquisite, in addition to the cash payment demanded, and was gratified to find it in good condition. He next plunged his hands into the pockets, but Marlowe had transferred their contents to his new attire. However, Jacob would have been little richer had his visitor neglected to do so. Having finished his scrutiny the old man blew out the candle and lay down in the corner opposite Marlowe. CHAPTER XX. THE DISGUISED LISTENER. On the Monday morning succeeding the attempt at burglary so happily defeated, Paul thought he ought to go round to the counting-room of Mr. Preston and acquaint him with the particulars. He accordingly deferred opening his place of business--if I may use so ambitious a phrase of the humble necktie stand over which he presided--and bent his steps toward Mr. Preston's counting-room. The latter had just arrived. "Good-morning, Paul," said Mr. Preston, smiling. "I know all about it." "About what, sir?" inquired Paul, surprised. "About the burglary." "Who told you?" our hero asked, in astonishment. "Didn't you know it was in the papers?" "No, sir." "I read it on my way downtown. These reporters get hold of everything. Read that."