“Where’s Bill?” was Mr. Brown’s first inquiry. “Stretched with a broken jawbone in the Fortune of War,” was the reply. “It seems the job was any thing but an easy one. But it’s done--and that’s a satisfaction.” “It would have been,” returned the hunchback, “if I had not dropped the gully.” “What the devil do ye mean?--Isn’t he finished?” “No more than you are,” was the answer. The Jew broke in with a coarse contradiction, and swore lustily that I was regularly defunct. “Well, all I can say,” continued the being of legs and arms, “that for a dead gentleman he spoke as plain as I do. He was a little groggy when he got up, but in a few minutes he walked away as steadily as I can.” “Damnation! Speak low--but all is overheard--and the reward is lost, I fear,” muttered Mr. Brown. “The worst of it is,” continued the hunchback, “that my name is on the knife, and Bill has dropped his jemmy.” “Ay, and the least clue will send the Bow-street villains after us immediately.” “I won’t remain another moment,” exclaimed Mr. Sloman, hurrying from the closet, and catching up his hat. “Stop, my dear friend; all may be yet put right. Frank, bring these gentlemen to the parlour. They will require a bit of bread and cheese after their exercise; and when I have spoken a few words to Mr. Sloman”---- “That an’t my name!” exclaimed the alarmed lawyer, as the scoundrels left the room. “Damn it, Mr. Brown,” he continued, “how can you be so stupid? I thought I was dealing with a safe man of business. What the devil do ye call men by their right names for?” “It was an oversight,” returned the host. “Don’t mind, Slovey--all’s safe here--and we’ll do the job better the next time we get an opportunity. Do we touch upon account to-night?” “Not a rap!” exclaimed Mr.. Sloman, peevishly; “but won’t you return the hundred?” Mr. Brown answered only by a look, but that look was an expressive one. It said, or seemed to say, in the elegant parlance ol the present time, “Don’t you wish you may get it?” “I want to be off,” observed the lawyer, seeing that all chance of restitution was hopeless, “and I don’t like to be stared at by those body-snatchers in the parlour. The scoundrels never forget a man; and, as I attend the Old Bailey professionally, they might remember me on their trial, and call upon me to speak to character.” “Stop, my dear friend, a minute where you are, and I’ll do the business effectually. Do take a little brandy and water before you start. It’s not to every body I give that Cognac,” and the host left Mr. Sloman to refresh himself before he should set out upon his return homewards. The hunchback and his companions were seated at a table in the lower room, when Mr. Brown glided softly in. They had drunk freely, for the failure of the night seemed to have occasioned a general annoyance.