They were seated at the table, with all the appurtenances that rendered their former interview so pleasant; but the present mood of the worthy couple was very different from the former one. The countenances of both betrayed anxiety and impatience. To plot is one thing--to perpetrate another; and a deed of blood propounded and agreed to on their first meeting, was now in course of execution. No wonder that the scoundrels felt ill at ease; not that either felt the slightest compunction for hurrying a fellow-creature into eternity; the failure of the attempt was what they dreaded, with a fear, if the deed were done, that some circumstances should attend it which ultimately might compromise their safety. They drank, but the wine had no flavour; or if it had, it failed to call forth their approbation. They spoke but little; the sentences that passed were brief and in an under tone; and at the slightest noise without both started; each appearing impatient for intelligence, and yet half afraid to hear what the result had been. “What the devil can delay them?” observed Mr. Brown. “The thing should have come off an hour ago.” “They may have failed,” replied Mr. Sloman; “or have done it, and been detected; or--but, thank God, I know nothing of the matter.” “Pish! as much as I do,” returned the owner of the mansion. “How can you say so, Mr. Brown?” returned Mr. Sloman, angrily. The host directed a meaning look at his visitor. “Slowey, how soft you are! Well, don’t fear; in England there’s not a better hand at cracking a skull than Josh Levi; and at the knife--the creature’s too weak for anything but light work--I’ll back Frank for a hundred.” “Damn it, don’t tell me particulars,” exclaimed the lawyer. “I wish all was over; I safe in Mary Axe; and you with your four hundred snug in pocket.” “Is the cash right?” inquired Mr. Brown. Mr. Sloman deigned no reply; but, producing a leather case from his side-pocket, he reckoned over nine bank notes. “I don’t know a nicer thing to look at, than a clean hundred-pound flimsey fresh from the Bank,” observed Mr. Sloman, playfully. Suddenly the street-bell rang, and a low and peculiar whistle followed the sound. Mr. Brown started. “By Heaven! that’s not Frank’s signal,” lie exclaimed. “Something is wrong, or the hunchback would be the first to bring intelligence.” Another, and a louder ring, told the impatience of the midnight visitor; and Mr. Brown descended to the lower story to ascertain who it was that at this late hour required admission. The answers from without satisfied him that the stranger might be let in. The chains rattled; the bolts were drawn; again the door was carefully secured; and Mr. Brown returned to his state apartment, accompanied by a very repulsive-looking gentleman, namely, the swarthy Israelite, who earlier in the evening had been reconnoitred by the captain and his companion while lying _perdu_ in Mr. Spicer’s lumber-room.