Without waiting to ask questions or give explanations, the three thieves fell tooth and nail upon the provender. "I knowed you'd come to this here crib, because Bill don't dare go to the boozing-ken till the affair of the Court's blowed over," said the Cracksman, when his meal was terminated; "and so I thought I'd jine you. Arter I left the place out by Clapton----" "And how the devil did you get away?" demanded Dick. "Just the same as you did. It would have sarved you right if I'd never spoke to you agin, and blowed you at the ken into the bargain; but I thought to myself, thinks I, 'It must be someot very strange that made the Flairer and the Bolter cut their lucky and leave their pal in the lurch; so let's hear wot they has to say for themselves fust.' Then, as I come along, I found a purse in a gentleman's pocket just opposite Bethnal Green New Church; and that put me into good humour. So I looked in at the ken, got the grub and the bingo, and come on here." "You're a reg'lar trump, Tom!" ejaculated Dick Flairer; "and I'll stick to you like bricks from this moment till I die. The fact is--me and Bill has told you about that young feller which we throwed down the trap some four or five year back." "Yes--I remember." "Well--we seed him to-night." "To-night! What--at the crib up there?" "The swell that you got a grip on in the dark, was the very self-same one." "Then he must have got clear off--that's all!" cried the Cracksman. "It was no ghost--but rale plump flesh and hot blood, I'll swear." "So we both think now, to be sure," said Dick: "but you don't bear any ill-will, Tom?" "Not a atom. Here's fifteen couters[52] which was in the purse of the swell which I met at Bethnal-Green; and half that's yourn. But, about Bill there--wot's he a-going to do?" Dick pointed with his finger downwards: Tom comprehended the signal, and nodded approvingly. The brandy produced a cheering effect upon the three ruffians: and pipes and tobacco augmented their joviality. Their discourse gradually became coarsely humorous; and their mirth boisterous. At length Bill Bolter, who required every possible means of artificial stimulant and excitement to sustain his spirits in the fearful predicament in which he was placed, called upon the Cracksman for a song. Tom was famous amongst his companions for his vocal qualifications; and he was not a little proud of the reputation he had acquired in the parlours of the various "boozing-kens" and "patter-cribs"[53] which he was in the habit of frequenting. He was not, therefore, backward in complying with his friend's request; and, in a somewhat subdued tone, (for fear of making _too much noise_--a complaint not often heard in Chick Lane), he sang the following lines:-- THE THIEVES' ALPHABET.