"You will place us on even ground—you will give me the same advantage that you have gained over me: in a word, you will take me straight to the place where you live, and you will show me your stores where you keep all the property you receive or purchase from those who are in league with you." "I—I have no stores," said Old Death; "and, as for my lodging—I—I have no settled place. I sleep sometimes in one crib—sometimes in another——" "All lies!" ejaculated Tom, in a determined tone. "You have enormous dealings with all the housebreakers and thieves in London; you have said as much to me—and you have boasted that they are ignorant of your residence. Now then, you _have_ a residence—and I swear that before I am six hours older, I will know so much about _you_, that you shall never dare to practise any treachery towards _me_." "What treachery could I practise against you, Tom?" asked Old Death in a conciliatory tone. "I will tell you," replied Rainford. "You boast that for thirty years you have monopolised the business of fence to all the people worth dealing with in London; and, during that time, you have never got into a scrape. But how could you have enjoyed so wonderful a safety—so uninterrupted a security, unless you now and then sacrificed—yes, _sacrificed_—an accomplice or two?" "I!" ejaculated Old Death, starting in spite of himself. "Yes—_you_," rejoined Rainford, fixing his eyes sternly and searchingly on the ancient villain's hideous countenance. "Do you think that I am unacquainted with your real character? do you suppose that I was at a loss to understand you, even the very first moment we ever met? That flippancy of manner—that off-handedness—that reckless indifference, which characterise me, are a species of mask from behind which I can penetrate into the deepest recesses of the hearts of others. I know you as well as you know yourself—or nearly so. At all events, I know enough to render me cautious and wary; and, by the living God! you shall never have an opportunity of selling me to save yourself!" "Tom—my dear Tom!" exclaimed Old Death, now actually frightened by the other's manner, and astonished at his words; "you cannot think of such a thing seriously!" "So seriously do I think of it," replied Rainford, "that I will drag you into the pit, if I am destined to fall. So now, without another word, prepare to reveal to me all the mysteries in which you have for thirty years enveloped yourself." "And if I refuse?" said Old Death, doggedly. Rainford deliberately cocked his pistol. "You have inveigled me into a snare—you have sent away those who might protect me—and now you seek an excuse to murder me!" exclaimed Old Death, his voice sounding like ringing metal.