The Tinker took a place beside him, and they waited in
silence the arrival of the liquor, which, when it came, was disposed of
at a couple of pulls; while Mr. Ginger, seeing they were engaged,
sauntered towards the card-table, attended by his four-footed
companions. "And now," said the Sandman, unable to control his curiosity longer, and
taking out his pocket-book, "we'll see what fortun' has given us." [Illustration: The Dog-fancier.] So saying, he unclasped the pocket-book, while the Tinker bent over
him in eager curiosity. But their search for money was fruitless. Not a
single bank-note was forthcoming. There were several memoranda and slips
of paper, a few cards, and an almanac for the year--that was all. It was
a great disappointment. "So we've had all this trouble for nuffin', and nearly got shot into the
bargain," cried the Sandman, slapping down the book on the table with an
oath. "I vish I'd never undertaken the job." "Don't let's give it up in sich an 'urry," replied the Tinker; "summat
may be made on it yet. Let's look over them papers." "Look 'em over yourself," rejoined the Sandman, pushing the book towards
him. "I've done wi' 'em. Here, lazy-bones, bring two glasses o'
rum-and-water--stiff, d'ye hear?" While the sleepy youth bestirred himself to obey these injunctions, the
Tinker read over every memorandum in the pocket-book, and then proceeded
carefully to examine the different scraps of paper with which it was
filled. Not content with one perusal, he looked them all over again, and
then began to rub his hands with great glee. "Wot's the matter?" cried the Sandman, who had lighted a cutty, and was
quietly smoking it. "Wot's the row, eh?" "Vy, this is it," replied the Tinker, unable to contain his
satisfaction; "there's secrets contained in this here pocket-book as'll
be worth a hundred pound and better to us. We ha'n't had our trouble for
nuffin'." "Glad to hear it!" said the Sandman, looking hard at him. "Wot kind o'
secrets are they?" "Vy, _hangin' secrets_," replied the Tinker, with mysterious emphasis. "He seems to be a terrible chap, and to have committed murder
wholesale." "Wholesale!" echoed the Sandman, removing the pipe from his lips. "That
sounds awful. But what a precious donkey he must be to register his
crimes i' that way." "He didn't expect the pocket-book to fall into our hands," said the
Tinker. "Werry likely not," replied the Sandman; "but somebody else might see
it. I repeat, he must be a fool. S'pose we wos to make a entry of
everythin' we does. Wot a nice balance there'd be agin us ven our
accounts comed to be wound up!" "Ourn is a different bus'ness altogether," replied the Tinker. "This
seems a werry mysterious sort o' person. Wot age should you take him to
be?" "Vy, five-an'-twenty at the outside," replied the Sandman. "Five-an'-sixty 'ud be nearer the mark," replied the Tinker. "There's
dates as far back as that." "Five-an'-sixty devils!" cried the Sandman; "there must be some mistake
i' the reckonin' there." "No, it's all clear an' reg'lar," rejoined the other; "and that doesn't
seem to be the end of it neither. I looked over the papers twice, and
one, dated 1780, refers to some other dokiments." "They must relate to his granddad, then," said the Sandman; "it's
impossible they can refer to him." "But I tell 'ee they _do_ refer to him," said the Tinker, somewhat
angrily, at having his assertion denied; "at least, if his own word's to
be taken. Anyhow, these papers is waluable to us. If no one else
believes in 'em, it's clear he believes in 'em hisself, and will be glad
to buy 'em from us." "That's a view o' the case worthy of an Old Bailey lawyer," replied the
Sandman. "Wot's the gemman's name?" "The name on the card is AURIOL DARCY," replied the Tinker. "Any address?" asked the Sandman. The Tinker shook his head. "That's unlucky agin," said the Sandman. "Ain't there no sort o' clue?" "None votiver, as I can perceive," said the Tinker. "Vy, zounds, then, ve're jist vere ve started from," cried the Sandman. "But it don't matter. There's not much chance o' makin' a bargin vith
him. The crack o' the skull I gave him has done his bus'ness." "Nuffin' o' the kind," replied the Tinker. "He alvays recovers from
every kind of accident." "Alvays recovers!" exclaimed the Sandman, in amazement. "Wot a
constitootion he must have!" "Surprisin'!" replied the Tinker; "he never suffers from injuries--at
least, not much; never grows old; and never expects to die; for he
mentions wot he intends doin' a hundred years hence." "Oh, he's a lu-nattic!" exclaimed the Sandman, "a downright lu-nattic;
and that accounts for his wisitin' that 'ere ruined house, and
a-fancyin' he heerd some one talk to him. He's mad, depend upon it. That
is, if I ain't cured him." "I'm of a different opinion," said the Tinker. "And so am I," said Mr. Ginger, who had approached unobserved, and
overheard the greater part of their discourse. "Vy, vot can you know about it, Ginger?" said the Sandman, looking up,
evidently rather annoyed. "I only know this," replied Ginger, "that you've got a good case, and if
you'll let me into it, I'll engage to make summat of it." "Vell, I'm agreeable," said the Sandman. "And so am I," added the Tinker. "Not that I pays much regard to wot you've bin a readin' in his papers,"
purused Ginger; "the gemman's evidently half-cracked, if he ain't
cracked altogether--but he's jist the person to work upon. He fancies
hisself immortal--eh?" "Exactly so," replied the Tinker. "And he also fancies he's committed a lot o' murders?" perused Ginger. "A desperate lot," replied the Tinker. "Then he'll be glad to buy those papers at any price," said Ginger. "Ve'll deal vith him in regard to the pocket-book, as I deals vith
regard to a dog--ask a price for its restitootion." "We must find him out first," said the Sandman. "There's no difficulty in that," rejoined Ginger. "You must be
constantly on the look-out. You're sure to meet him some time or other." "That's true," replied the Sandman; "and there's no fear of his knowin'
us, for the werry moment he looked round I knocked him on the head." "Arter all," said the Tinker, "there's no branch o' the perfession so
safe as yours, Ginger. The law is favourable to you, and the beaks is
afeerd to touch you. I think I shall turn dog-fancier myself." "It's a good business," replied Ginger, "but it requires a hedication. As I wos sayin', we gets a high price sometimes for restorin' a
favourite, especially ven ve've a soft-hearted lady to deal vith. There's some vimen as fond o' dogs as o' their own childer, and ven ve
gets one o' their precious pets, ve makes 'em ransom it as the brigands
you see at the Adelphi or the Surrey sarves their prisoners, threatenin'
to send first an ear, and then a paw, or a tail, and so on. I'll tell
you wot happened t'other day. There wos a lady--a Miss Vite--as was
desperate fond of her dog. It wos a ugly warmint, but no matter for
that--the creater had gained her heart.