at the door it opened, and Jack Bartley appeared on the threshold. They exchanged a “Hollo!” of surprise, and after a whispered word or two on the pavement, went in. They mounted the stairs to a bedroom which Jack occupied. When the door was closed:
“Bill’s got copped!” whispered Bartley.
“Copped? Any of it on him?”
“Only the half-crown as he was pitchin’, thank God! They let him go again after he’d been to the station. It was a conductor. I’d never try them blokes myself; they’re too downy.”
“Let’s have a look at ’em,” said Bob, after musing. “I thought myself as they wasn’t quite the reg’lar.”
As he spoke he softly turned the key in the door. Jack then put his arm up the chimney and brought down a small tin box, soot-blackened; he opened it, and showed about a dozen pieces of money,—in appearance halfcrowns and florins. One of the commonest of offences against the law in London, this to which our young friends were not unsuccessfully directing their attention; one of the easiest to commit, moreover, for a man with
