ye're upsettin' me, an' all the fruits of my
industry," cried an applewoman, against whom the bricklayer had run his
barrow. "Divil seize you for a careless wagabone! Why don't you look
where ye're goin', and not dhrive into people in that way?" "Axes pardon, Molly," said the bricklayer; "but I was so inter_est_ed in
them antiquaries, that I didn't obsarve ye." "Antiquaries be hanged! what's such warmint to me?" cried the applewoman
furiously. "You've destroyed my day's market, and bad luck to ye!" "Well, never heed, Molly," cried the good-natured bricklayer; "I'll make
it up t'ye. Pick up your apples, and you shall have a dhrop of the
craiter if you'll come along wid me." While this was passing, a stout gentleman came from the farther side of
the statue, and perceiving Loftus, cried--"Why, brother-in-law, is that
you?" But Loftus was too much engrossed to notice him, and continued to
expiate upon the beauty of the trophies. "What are you talking about, brother?" cried the stout gentleman. "Grinling Gibbons," replied Loftus, without turning round. "Horace
Walpole said that no one before him could give to wood the airy
lightness of a flower, and here he has given it to a stone." "This may be all very fine, my good fellow," said the stout gentleman,
seizing him by the shoulder; "but don't you see the crowd you're
collecting round you? You'll be mobbed presently." "Why, how the devil did you come here, brother Thorneycroft?" cried
Loftus, at last recognising him. "Come along, and I'll tell you," replied the iron-merchant, dragging him
away, while Morse followed closely behind them. "I'm so glad to have met
you," pursued Thorneycroft, as soon as they were clear of the mob;
"you'll be shocked to hear what has happened to your niece, Ebba." "Why, what _has_ happened to her?" demanded Loftus. "You alarm me. Out
with it at once. I hate to be kept in suspense." "She has left me," replied Thorneycroft--"left her old indulgent
father--run away." "Run away!" exclaimed Loftus. "Impossible! I'll not believe it--even
from your lips." "Would it were not so!--but it is, alas! too true," replied Thorneycroft
mournfully. "And the thing was so unnecessary, for I would gladly have
given her to the young man. My sole hope is that she has not utterly
disgraced herself." "No, she is too high principled for that," cried Loftus. "Rest easy on
that score. But with whom has she run away?" "With a young man named Auriol Darcy," replied Thorneycroft. "He was
brought to my house under peculiar circumstances." "I never heard of him," said Loftus. "But I have," interposed Morse. "I've known him these two hundred
years." "Eh day! who's this?" cried Thorneycroft. "A crack-brained little fellow, whom I've engaged as valet," replied
Loftus. "He fancies he was born in Queen Elizabeth's time." "It's no fancy," cried Morse. "I am perfectly acquainted with Auriol
Darcy's history. He drank of the same elixir as myself." "If you know him, can you give us a clue to find him?" asked
Thorneycroft. "I am sorry I cannot," replied Morse. "I only saw him for a few minutes
the other night, after I had been thrown into the Serpentine by the tall
man in the black cloak." "What's that you say?" cried Thorneycroft quickly. "I have heard Ebba
speak of a tall man in a black cloak having some mysterious connection
with Auriol. I hope that person has nothing to do with her
disappearance." "I shouldn't wonder if he had," replied Morse. "I believe that black
gentleman to be----"

"What!--who?" demanded Thorneycroft. "Neither more nor less than the devil," replied Morse mysteriously. "Pshaw! poh!" cried Loftus. "I told you the poor fellow was half
cracked." At this moment, a roguish-looking fellow, with red whiskers and hair,
and clad in a velveteen jacket with ivory buttons, who had been watching
the iron-merchant at some distance, came up, and touching his hat, said,
"Mr. Thorneycroft, I believe?" "My name is Thorneycroft, fellow!" cried the iron-merchant, eyeing him
askance. "And your name, I fancy, is Ginger?" "Exactly, sir," replied the dog-fancier, again touching his hat,
"ex-actly. I didn't think you would rekilect me, sir. I bring you some
news of your darter." "Of Ebba!" exclaimed Thorneycroft, in a tone of deep emotion. "I hope
your news is good." "I wish it wos better, for her sake as well as yours, sir," replied the
dog-fancier gravely; "but I'm afeerd she's in werry bad hands." "That she is, if she's in the hands o' the black gentleman," observed
Morse. "Vy, Old Parr, that ain't you?" cried Ginger, gazing at him in
astonishment. "Vy, 'ow you are transmogrified, to be sure!" "But what of my daughter?" cried Thorneycroft; "where is she? Take me to
her, and you shall be well rewarded." "I'll do my best to take you to her, and without any reward, sir,"
replied Ginger, "for my heart bleeds for the poor young creater. As I
said afore, she's in dreadful bad hands." "Do you allude to Mr. Auriol Darcy?" cried Thorneycroft. "No, he's as much a wictim of this infernal plot as your darter,"
replied Ginger; "I thought him quite different at first--but I've
altered my mind entirely since some matters has come to my knowledge." "You alarm me greatly by these dark hints," cried Thorneycroft. "What is
to be done?" "I shall know in a few hours," replied Ginger. "I ain't got the exact
clue yet. But come to me at eleven o'clock to-night, at the Turk's Head,
at the back o' Shoreditch Church, and I'll put you on the right scent. You must come alone." "I should wish this gentleman, my brother-in-law, to accompany me," said
Thorneycroft. "He couldn't help you," replied Ginger. "I'll take care to have plenty
of assistance. It's a dangerous bus'ness, and can only be managed in a
sartin way, and by a sartin person, and he'd object to any von but you. To-night, at eleven! Good-bye, Old Parr. Ve shall meet again ere long." And without a word more, he hurried away. CHAPTER XI

PREPARATIONS


On that same night, at the appointed hour, Mr. Thorneycroft repaired to
Shoreditch, and entering a narrow street behind the church, speedily
discovered the Turk's Head, at the door of which a hackney-coach was
standing. He was shown by the landlord into a small back room, in which
three men were seated at a small table, smoking, and drinking gin and
water, while a fourth was standing near the fire, with his back towards
the door. The latter was a tall, powerfully built man, wrapped in a
rough greatcoat, and did not turn round on the iron-merchant's entrance. "You are punctual, Mr. Thorneycroft," said Ginger, who was one of the
trio at the table; "and I'm happy to say, I've arranged everythin' for
you, sir. My friends are ready to undertake the job. Only they von't do
it on quite sich easy terms as mine." The Tinker and the Sandman coughed slightly, to intimate their entire
concurrence in Mr. Ginger's remark.