The hunchback disappeared; and during his absence, Mr. Brown divided his attention pretty equally between the contents of Mr. Sloman’s epistle and those of the decanter at his elbow. In a quarter of an hour, the hunchback’s key was heard turning in the street-door lock,--and he presently announced, that, having made diligent inquiries from several professional gentlemen who were refreshing themselves in the back parlour of the Fortune of War, he was then and there assured, that nothing had been done the preceding evening but the usual theatrical business--with the exception of a silver coffee-pot, that had been abstracted from a west-end hotel. Another quarter of an hour passed--a church-bell chimed--nine was sounded from the belfry; and, ere the clock ceased striking, steps were heard upon the stairs, and “the thing of legs and arms” announced “Mr. Sloman.” The expected visitor was a large, corpulent, clumsy-looking nondescript, with a hooked nose, and light complexion, that rendered it impossible to decide whether he should be classed as Jew or Gentile. At Mr. Brown’s invitation he took a chair, filled a glass, ventured a remark touching the present state of the weather, and ended with an eulogy on the wine. [Illustration: 0206] “It should be capital, for it comes directly from the cellar of a noble lord, who is considered to be as good a judge of port as any man in England,”--said Mr. Brown; “his head butler and I do business pretty extensively. He’s always hard up, his woman is so desperately extravagant; for actresses are always expensive cattle, as you know. I have recommended him to take a rib; but he can’t stand matrimony, he says,--at the west-end, it’s reckoned so infernally vulgar.” “You got my letter,” said Mr. Sloman, with a significant look. Mr. Brown nodded assent. “We’re all alone?” inquired Mr. Sloman. “Not a soul in the house, but Frank and the old housekeeper,” was the reply. “Well,” rejoined the visitor, “let us go slap to business. We have done a little in our time, Mr. Brown, and I flatter myself to mutual satisfaction.” Mr. Brown smiled affirmatively. “Every transaction between us,” continued Mr. Sloman, “safe, honourable, and agreeable.” “The last stolen bills were devilish awkward to manage,” observed Mr. Brown, “and things became so ticklish, that they were returned to the parties for three hundred. Not a rap more--no--upon my honour!” “Nothing in the bill line,” observed Mr. Sloman, “at present.” “Glad of it,” returned Mr. Brown. “Is it a crack?--plate, jewels, or--” “Quite another line--In a word, a thousand’s offered--get the thing done, and we divide!” Mr. Brown started. Two things occasioned this disturbance of constitutional self-possession; the first was the largeness of the consideration, and the second, an intimation that the business was in “a new line.” “Who are the parties, and what’s the business?” was the inquiry.