The blood flew into George’s face, and he stepped upon the toe of the pawnbroker. Nathans feared that the box on the desk would be spied by the detective. “I’ll watch,” said he after a while, “and if the jewels come in I’ll tell you.” “All right, and another thing, Benson is dying, and he wants his daughter, and if you should see a poor woman come here to pawn anything don’t let her go away without asking her name, for it might be worth your while.” “I don’t trouble myself about such people,” said the broker, “but as long as you want me to I’ll keep on the watch.” He had only turned his back for a moment before the pawnbroker was upon the young man. “So you think that I was going to pay you a thousand for stolen goods. You are as bad as that Farren. I can’t watch you fellows enough.” “You’d better give me some money, Nathans. How am I going to do work with nothing? Now then, keep the jewels.” “No, I don’t want them.” Suddenly there came into the eyes of the other a light which made Nathans ask Benson what he was thinking about. “Put that box in that bundle of Tom Cooper, and by that way we will get rid of him.” “And make it appear that he stole the jewels?” “And why not?” asked George. “Would it not get him out of the way for at least five years, and if the girl is not found by that time I would not give much for the fortune she would find in the meantime.” “But how are you going to let the police know that he stole that box?” asked Nathans. “I’ll skip out and send the police, and then when he comes back you pick a quarrel with him, and when that happens cry out and the police will nab him, and then the searching of his bundle will make it look as if he stole the jewels when he was at the mansion last night.” “Bravo, old fellow; you’re all right. Here goes,” and into the sailor’s bundle the jewels were slipped, but neither of the men knew that under the counter was a shaggy little head, and that when they were not looking a red hand was slipped to get the bundle and to relieve it of the gems, but the incoming of Tom just at that moment gave him no opportunity and the sailor ejaculated: “Well, old cove, what are you going to give me for these clothes? I went all the way to that old Irish lady’s house, and sure enough the woman wasn’t there. I suppose that she had lit out to raise the dough for grub for herself and babe.” As he spoke he took up the bundle and shook it lightly. “Those clothes don’t look like much, for they’ve been wrapped upon the ship, but they’re new, old sport.” “You needn’t call me such names as that, young man,” said the pawnbroker. “That’s nothing,” laughed the sailor jovially, “for when a man gets as old and shriveled as you are it shows that he’s been something of a sport in his life.” The pawnbroker looked furtively about. “What you want on the clothes?” “What’ll you give?” “I’m afraid you stole them.” The sailor drew up his big form slowly and sent his sleeve up to his elbows.