Chapter 3

The inhabitants partook of the character of
their surroundings, and it struck our Scotsman that, as ordinary shops
became fewer and meaner, grog-shops became more numerous and
self-assertive. From out of these dens of debauchery there issued loud
cries and curses and ribald songs, and occasionally one or two of the
wretched revellers, male or female, were thrust out, that they might
finish off a quarrel with a fight in the street, or because they
insisted on having more drink without having the means to pay for it.

At one particular point a woman "in unwomanly rags" was seen leaning up
against a lamp-post with an idiotical expression on her bloated face,
making an impassioned speech to some imaginary person at her elbow. The
speech came to an abrupt end when, losing her balance, she fell to the
ground, and lay there in drunken contentment.

At the same moment the attention of our explorer was drawn to a riot
close at hand, occasioned by two men engaged in a fierce encounter.
They were loudly cheered and backed by their friends, until all were
scattered by two powerful constables, who swooped suddenly on the scene
and captured one of the combatants, while the other almost overturned
David as he ran against him in passing, and escaped.

"Come down here," said the thief, turning sharp to the left and passing
under a low archway.

It led to a narrow alley, which seemed to terminate in total darkness.
Even Laidlaw's stout heart beat somewhat faster as he entered it, but he
did not hesitate.

At the end of the passage a dim light appeared. It was thrown by a very
dirty lamp, and disclosed a small court of unutterable meanness and
inconceivable smells. One or two men had brushed past them, and David
observed that his guide accosted these in a language, or slang, which he
did not understand.

"I've got a friend in here," said his guide, opening a door and
disclosing an extremely dirty room of about ten feet square. A woman
with her back towards the door was busy at a wash-tub. Ragged clothes
were drying on a clothes-line. A shattered bed, on which lay a bundle
of straw and a torn blanket, stood in one corner; a rickety table in
another. Water and soapsuds blotched the broken floor, amongst which
played two little boys, absolutely naked.

"That's a woman that tries to keep respectable," whispered the thief,
with something like a bitter laugh. "Hallo, Molly! here's a gen'lem'n
as wants to bid 'ee good-night."

Molly raised herself, cleared the soapsuds from her thin arms, and
turned a haggard but not dissipated face towards her visitor, who was
almost choked, not only by the smell of the place, but by an
uncontrollable gush of pity.

"My puir wumin!" he exclaimed, hastily thrusting his ever-ready hand
into his pocket, "I didna mean t' come in on 'ee unawears. Hae, ye'll
no' objec' to a wheen bawbees?"

He put all the coppers he possessed into the woman's hand and hurried
out of the room.

"Weel, weel," muttered David, as they continued their walk through the
miserable region, "I've gane an' gie'd her a' the siller I had i' my
pouch. Pair thing! She'll need it, but I've naething left for onybody
else!"

"It's just as well, for there's nothing left now for any one to steal,"
said his companion.

"Whar are 'ee gaun noo?" asked Laidlaw.

The question put was not answered, for his guide, bidding him wait a
minute, turned into a doorway and engaged in a low-toned conversation
with a man. Returning to his friend with an air of indecision about
him, the thief was on the point of speaking when a small party of men
and women--evidently of the better classes--came round the corner and
approached.

"Oho!" exclaimed the thief, drawing his companion into the shade of the
opposite doorway, "we're in luck. You see, this is what they call a low
lodging-house, and the door-keeper thought that, respectable as you are
in dress and looks, it might not be wise to take you in. But we'll go
in now at the tail o' this lot, and nobody will take notice of you.
Only follow close to me."

Two of the "lot" who approached appeared to be respectably-dressed young
men, carrying something like a large box between them. There were five
altogether in the party, two of whom seemed to be plainly-dressed
ladies.

They entered the house at once with a quiet "good-night" to the
door-keeper, and were followed by the thief and David. Entering a very
large irregularly-formed room, they proceeded to the upper end, where a
huge coal fire blazed. The room was crowded with men and boys of varied
appearance and character. From every rank in society they had
gravitated--but all were stamped with the same brand--destitution! They
were not, however, destitute of lungs, as the babel of sounds proved--
nor of tobacco, as the clouds of smoke demonstrated.

Little notice was taken of the visitors. They were well known in that
haunt of crime and woe. Angels of mercy they were, who, after the
labours of each day, gave their spare time to the work of preaching
salvation in Jesus to lost souls. To the surprise of Laidlaw, the box
before referred to became a harmonium when opened up, and soon the
harmony of praise to God ascended from the reeking den. Then followed
prayer--brief and to the point--after which an earnest appeal was made
to the sorrowing, the suffering, and the criminal to come and find
deliverance and rest in the Saviour.

We may not dwell on this. Some listened carelessly, some earnestly,
others not at all.

"Come now," whispered the thief to his friend, towards the close,
"they'll have spotted you, and will want to have a talk. We've no time
for that. Follow me."

David, who had been deeply interested, also wanted to have a talk with
these servants of the King of kings, but his guide being already halfway
down the room he was constrained to follow. Another moment and they
were in the street.

CHAPTER SIX.

ENEMIES TURNED TO FRIENDS.

"You want to see as much as you can, I suppose?" remarked the thief as
he hastened along. "Come, I'll take you to our den."

It seemed as if the man were leading his companion into deeper and
deeper depths, for the dark passage into which they finally turned, and
along which they groped their way, seemed to be the very vestibule of
Pandemonium; cries as of fierce and evil spirits being heard at the
farther end of it.

"Now," said the thief, stopping, "whatever you do here, don't show
fight. This is a thieves' den."

The passage at its farther end became absolutely dark, so that the thief
had to lead our hero by the hand. Turning abruptly to the right, they
came upon a door through which there issued sounds of terrible revelry.
A knock produced no effect. A second and louder knock resulted in dead
silence. Then a female voice was heard inside. To it our thief replied
in the language of the slums. Immediately the door was opened just
enough to let the two men glide in; then it was shut with a bang and
bolted.

"Hallo, Trumps, who 'ave you got here?" "W'ere did you pick 'im up?"
"Is he a noo member?" shouted several voices, amid general laughter.

The speakers were among a company of men and women whose general
appearance and reckless expressions of countenance seemed to indicate
that they were past redemption. The den in which they sat drinking,
smoking, and gambling consisted of a dirty room fitted with narrow
tables, out of which opened an inner apartment. The door of this had
been removed--probably for firewood in a time of scarcity. Both rooms
were lighted with dim oil-lamps. Some of the company were beggars and
tramps of the lowest type, but most were evidently of the vicious and
criminal order. There was a tendency to unpleasant curiosity in regard
to the stranger, but the thief, whom we may now call Trumps, put an end
to this with a few slang words, and led his friend to a seat in the
inner room, whence he could observe nearly the whole party and all that
went on.

Some of the more intoxicated among them objected to be snubbed by
Trumps, and were beginning to scowl at the visitor, no doubt with
sinister intentions, when the outer door was again opened, and a young
thief, obviously familiar with the place, entered, closely followed by a
respectable-looking man in a surtout and a light topcoat. It required
no second look to tell that the new-comer was a city missionary. Like
our Scot, he had gained admission to the place through the influence of
a friendly thief.

"Hullo, _more_ visitors!" growled a big savage-looking man with an
apron, who proved to be the landlord of the den.

Advancing quickly to this man, the missionary said, in a quiet gentle
tone--

"You supply coffee, I see. May I have a cup?"

"No you mayn't, you spy! I know you, you canting wretch!"

He locked the door as he spoke, and then, striding forward in a towering
rage, threatened vengeance on the intruder. The company, expecting a
scene, rose _en masse_ to their feet, while those in the inner room
crowded to the front. Laidlaw, who was for the moment forgotten in this
new excitement, followed them. He was well enough informed in reference
to the work of the London City Missionaries to understand at a glance
that one of those fearless men had managed to worm his way into the
thieves' den, and was perhaps in danger of his life. That the man
realised his danger was apparent from the fact that he stood erect and
closed his eyes for a moment--evidently in silent prayer for help in the
hour of need. The act probably saved him, for the ferocious landlord,
although ready enough to crush defiance with a savage blow, did not
quite see his way to dash his great fist into a mild, manly face with
shut eyes! It was such an unusual way of receiving his onset that he
hesitated and lowered his fist. Suddenly the missionary drew out a
pocket-Bible, and, pointing upwards with it, said, in loud solemn tones,
"A great white throne will be set up among the stars above us. The
Saviour who died for sinners will sit upon it, and the dead that are in
their graves shall hear His voice and live. _We_ shall be there!"

At this the people were silenced, apparently under a spell--some gazing
upwards as if to see the throne; others staring into the missionary's
face in wonder.

"And I and you and you," he continued, pointing to one and another,
"shall be there: `We must all stand before the judgment-seat of Christ.'
I am not an enemy, or a spy, but a servant of the Lord Jesus, who will
be your judge at the last day. He is now the Saviour of the ruined and
lost, and in His name I offer you mercy through the blood He shed for
you upon the Cross. In His blessed Book it is written, `Whosoever
believeth on Him shall be saved.' I hope to come again before long to
see you, friends. Now, landlord, open that door and let me out."

The landlord, who seemed to be thoroughly taken aback, unlocked the door
with a trembling hand, and the missionary passed out. But that was not
the end of this remarkable visit. It was only the beginning of a grand
work for Christ which afterwards took place in and around that thieves'
den. On this, however, we may not do more than touch here. Smitten in
conscience, that landlord hurried out after the missionary and actually
begged of him to repeat his visit. Then he returned to the den and
found his people recovering somewhat from their surprise.

But, touched though the landlord was, he had by no means changed his
character.

"Now, then," he demanded, going up to David Laidlaw, "are _you_ a
missionary too?"

"Na, freen', I am not; but I 'maist wush that I was, for it's a graund
wark t' carry help t' the destitute."

"Well, guv'nor," cried one fellow with a crushed nose and a huge black
eye, "if that's wot you're a-'ankerin' arter you can go a-'ead 'ere an'
'elp us to yer 'eart's content, for we're all destitoot in this 'ere
den. So, come along, table down all the cash you've got about you."

"I'll dae that wi' pleasure," said David, rising promptly, and turning
all his pockets inside out. "Ye shall hae every bodle I possess."

A general laugh greeted this proceeding, and one young thief shouted,
"Well done, checkers," (referring to his garments); "but 'ow comes it
that you've bin cleaned out?"

"Plain as pea-soup," cried another. "Don't you see? He's bin keepin'
company with Trumps!"

Here Trumps rose to explain. "No, pals, that's not the reason; but just
before comin' here he gave away every rap he had to poor widow Grain."

"He's a brick!" cried one man, with a fierce oath.

"He's a fool!" shouted another, with a fiercer oath. Regardless of the
interruption, Trumps went on to explain how he had attempted to rob our
hero, and been caught by him, and let off with a mild reproof and a lot
of coppers. He also explained how that black-hearted villain Tandy
Spivin (meaning David's landlord) had hired him--Trumps--to take this
"gen'lem'n" (pointing to David) "down into the den _for a purpus_--ahem!
Of course, on bein' introdooced to him," continued Trumps, "I at once
recognised the Scotchman I had tried to rob, and expected he would
refuse to go with me; but I soon found that Scotty was a deep as well as
a plucky cove, and wasn't to be done out of his fun by trifles, for he
said he would go to the slums with me because he could _trust me--trust
me_, pals--note that!"

A loud explosion of laughter interrupted the speaker at this point.

"What!" exclaimed several voices, "said 'e could trust _you_, Trumps?"

"Ay," cried the thief, looking suddenly fierce, "and why not? Isn't it
said, `There's honour among thieves?'"

"Thrue for ye," cried a big burglarious-looking Irishman, "sure there's
honour 'twixt the likes o' you an' me, Trumps, but that gen'lem'n an't a
thief!"

"That's so, Bill," exclaimed another man, with bloodshot eyes and
beetling brows; "an' it's my opinion that as the cove hain't got no
browns 'e ought to contribute 'is checker suit to the good o' the 'ouse.
It would fetch summat."

The interest in the missionary's words seemed to be passing away, for at
this point the language and looks of some of the company made David
Laidlaw feel that he was indeed in a ticklish position. The threats and
noise were becoming louder and more furious, and he was beginning to
think of the hopeless resource of using his fists, when a loud
exclamation, followed by a dead silence, drew every eye to the door.

The girl to whom the keeping of it had been intrusted had neglected her
duty for a moment. In letting one of the company out she incautiously
stood looking through the open chink into the dark passage. That
instant was seized by two tall and powerful limbs of the law, in cloth
helmets and with bull's-eye lanterns, who pushed quietly but quickly
into the room. Shutting the door, one of the constables stood with his
back against it, while the other advanced and examined the faces of the
company one by one.

There was dead silence, for the constables were men of business, not of
words, while the criminals, some of whom became grave as well as silent,
seemed very anxious not to attract undue attention.

The particular person "wanted," however, was not there at that time. On
coming to David, who met the glare of the bull's-eye with his grave
smile, the constable looked surprised.

"I think, young man," he said in a low voice, "you've come to the wrong
shop here."

"That's _my_ business," replied David coolly.

"Well, you know best of course, but if you'll take my advice you'll come
out of this place along with us."

"Na. I'll bide where I am. I'll _trust_ them."

"Brayvo! well done, Scotty!" burst from the company, whose courage
quickly revived when they found that no one there was "wanted."

The policemen laughed and went out.

"Noo, freen's, I want to say a word," said David, rising. "I'm gaun
awa', an' it's ower late t' mak' a speech the nicht, but I want t' ask
leave t' come back here again an' hae a crack wi' ye. I want t' ask 'ee
some questions, an' gie ye some guid advice. May I come?"

"Of course you may, Scotty," said the landlord, grasping David's hand
and receiving a good-humoured squeeze that made him wince. "You're a
trump, and we'll give you the freedom of the 'ouse. Won't we, pals?"

"Agreed, agreed," shouted the whole company; "and we've got two Trumps
now!" added a wag, amid much laughter and staves of, "He's a jolly good
fellow," during the singing of which Laidlaw and his friend took their
departure.

Having marked the position of the den well and taken its bearings they
said good-night cordially and separated, the thief to his lair, and the
Scotsman to his lodging, where he fully expected that the "villain"
Tandy Spivin had availed himself of the opportunity to rob him.

But he was wrong. He found his bag, with his watch and money and his
little all, intact as he had left it.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

MISCHIEF BREWING.

David Laidlaw was one of those comfortably constituted men who eat
heartily, sleep profoundly, and lie thinking in bed in the mornings--
when awake--with philosophic intensity.

On the morning after his first day in London our hero's mind had to
grapple with the perplexing question, whether it was possible that a man
with a jovial face, a hearty manner, well-off to all appearance in a
worldly point of view, and who chanced to have a man's money at his
mercy yet did not take it, _could_ be a deceiver and in league with
thieves. Impossible! Yet there were the damaging facts that Mr Spivin
had introduced a thief to him as a true and converted man, and that this
thief, besides denying his own conversion, had pronounced him--Spivin--a
black-hearted villain!

"It bothers me!" said David at length, getting over the side of the bed,
and sitting there for some time abstractedly stroking his chin.

Pondering the subject deeply, he dressed, called for breakfast, met
Spivin with a quiet "guid-mornin', freen," said that he had had "a
pleesant time o't i' the slums," and then went out to visit his friends
in Cherub Court. Before going, however, he removed his money from his
bag, put it in an inner breast-pocket, and paid his bill.

"You won't be back to dinner, I suppose," said the landlord in his
genial manner.

"Na. I'm gaun to plowter aboot a' day an' see the toon. I may be late
o' comin' in, but ye'll keep my bed for me, an' tak' care o' my bag."

Spivin said he would do so with such hearty goodwill that David said,
mentally, "He's innocent."

At the moment a tall dark man with a sharp intelligent expression
entered the house and bade the landlord good-morning. The latter
started, laughed, winked, glanced expressively at the Scotsman, and
returned the stranger's salute in a tone that induced David to say,
mentally, "He's guilty."

Gravely pondering these contradictory opinions, our hero walked along
until he found himself close to the alley which led into Cherub Court.
A female yell issued from the alley as he came up, and Mrs Rampy
suddenly appeared in a state of violent self-assertion. She was a
strong, red-faced woman, who might have been born a man, perhaps, with
advantage. She carried a broken-lipped jug, and was on her way to the
shop which was at least the second cause of all her woes.

Standing aside to let the virago pass, Laidlaw proceeded to the court,
where, to his great surprise, he found Tommy Splint sitting on a
doorstep, not exactly in tears, but with disconsolation deeply impressed
on his dirty young face.

"Eh, laddie, what's wrang?" exclaimed the Scot, his mind reverting
anxiously, and strangely enough, to the "waux doll."

"O, Mr Laidlow" exclaimed the boy.

"Na, na," interrupted David, "I'm no laid _low_ yet, though the Lun'on
folk hae done their best to bring me t' that condeetion. My name's
Laid-law, laddie. Freen's ca' me David, an' ye may do the same; but for
ony sake dinna use that English D_ai_vid. I canna thole that. Use the
lang, braid, Bible a. But what's the maitter wi' ye?"

"Well, Mr Da-a-a-vid," returned the boy, unable to resist a touch of
fun even in his distress, "they've bin an' dismissed our Susy, wot's as
good as gold; so she's hout o' work, and chimley-pot Liz she's fit to
break 'er hold 'art, 'cause she ain't able to earn enough now to pay the
rent of 'er room, an' the landlord, what's a lawyer, 'e is, says two
weeks' rent is overdue, and 'e'll turn 'er hout into the street
to-morrer if it's not paid."

"That's bad news, Tammy," said Laidlaw, thrusting both hands into his
pockets, and looking meditatively at the ground. "But why doesna Sam
Blake, the waux--, I mean Susy's faither, lend them the siller?"

"'Cause he's gone to Liverpool for somethink or other about 'is wessel,
an' left no address, an' won't be back for two or three days, an' the
old ooman ain't got a friend on 'arth--leastwise not a rich 'un who can
'elp 'er."

"Hoots, laddie, ye're wrang! _I_ can help her."

"Ah, but," said the boy, still in tones of disconsolation, "you don't
know chimley-pot Liz. She's proud, she is, an' won't take nuffin from
strangers."

"Weel, weel, but I'm no'--a stranger, callant."

"I rather think you are!" replied the boy, with a knowing look.

"Ye may be richt. Weel, I'll no' gi'e them the chance to refuse.
What's the name of the lawyer-body that's their landlord?"

"Lockhart. John would be 'is Christian name if 'e _wos_ a Christian.
But a cove with a Christian name as is _not_ a Christian do seem an
absurdity--don't it? They say 'e's about the greatest willian out o'
Newgate. An' 'is office is somewhere near Chancery Lane."

"Weel, Christian or no Christian, I'll gi'e him a ca'," said David; "are
they up there enow?" he added, with a significant motion of his head
towards the garden on the roof.

"Yes, both of 'em--'owling. I couldn't stand it, so came down 'ere to
veep alone."

"Weel, ye better stop where ye are, an' veep--as ye say--a wee while
langer. I'll gang up to see them."

A minute more and David, tapping at the garret door, was bidden to enter
by a sweet voice which caused the slightest imaginable sensation in his
heart! Susan was there alone--not 'owling, as Tommy had expressed it,
but with the traces of tears obviously about her eyes. She blushed
deeply and looked a little confused as David entered, probably because
of being caught with the signs aforesaid on her cheeks.

"Guid-mornin', Miss Blake," said David earnestly, giving the girl a warm
shake of the hand. "O lassie, but I am sorry to hear that ye're in
trouble! I do assure ye that if a pund or twa would help yer granny--"

"'Sh, Mr Laidlaw!" said Susan, looking furtively round and speaking
low. "Granny will hear! You must not offer her money. From father,
indeed, if he were here, she would accept it, but not from a--a
stranger."

"Am I, then, such a stranger?" asked David in a peculiar tone, for the
word sounded cold and disagreeable.

Again Susan blushed, yet felt a tendency to laugh, as she replied,
"Well, you know, although you _have_ helped me in trouble, it is not
_very_ long since we met. But come and see granny; she's in the
garden--and, please, don't speak of our troubles."

"Weel, weel, please yersel', lassie," returned the Scot, almost sternly,
as he followed Susan into the garden on the roof, where old Liz sat in
her rustic chair resting her head on her hand, and looking sadly at the
sunlight, which flickered through the foliage on to the zinc floor.
Despite Susan's caution Laidlaw sat down beside the old woman and took
her hand.

"Noo, Mrs Morley," he said, "it's o' no use me tryin' to haud my tongue
whan I want to speak. I'm a plain north-country man, an' I canna thole
to see a puir auld body in trouble withoot offerin' t' help her. I've
been telt o' Susy's misfortin' an' aboot the rent, and if ye'll
accep'--"

"No, sir, no," said old Liz firmly, but without any look of that pride
with which she had been credited. "I will not accept money from--"

"But I'm no' askin' ye," interrupted David, "to accep' money as a
_gift_--only as a loan, ye ken, withoot interest of course."

"Not even as a loan," said the old woman. "Besides, young man, you must
not fancy that I am altogether penniless. I 'appen to 'ave shares in an
American Railway, which my landlord advised me to buy with my small
savings. No doubt, just at present the dividend on the shares of the
Washab and Roria Railway have fallen off terribly, but--"

"What railway?" asked Laidlaw quickly.

"The Washab and Roria. Somewhere in the United States," said Liz.

"H'm! I was readin' the papers yestreen," said David. "Ye see, I'm
fond o' fishin' aboot odd corners o' the papers--the money market, an'
stocks, an' the like--an' I noticed that vera railway--owin' to its
daft-like name, nae doot--an' its deevidends are first-rate. Ye could
sell oot enow at a high profit gin ye like."

"Indeed? You must be mistaken, I think," replied the old woman, "for I
'ave 'ad almost nothink for a year or two. You see, my landlord, who
takes charge of these matters for me--"

"That's Mr Lockhart the lawyer, ye mean?"

"Yes. He says they're losing money now, and there was no dividend at
all last half-year."

"H'm! that _is_ strange," said David, stroking his chin, "uncommon--
strange!"

"D'you think Mr Lockhart has made a mistake, Mr Laidlaw?" asked Susan
hopefully.

"Ay, I think he _hes_ made a mistake. But 'oo'll see. An' noo, to
change the subjec', I'll tell 'ee aboot some o' the adventur's I had
last nicht."

From this point David Laidlaw entertained old Liz and Susy and Tommy
Splint, who had by that time joined them, with a graphic account of his
adventures in the slums, in the telling of which he kept his audience in
fits of laughter, yet spoke at times with such pathos that Susan was
almost moved to tears.

"Noo, I must away," he said at length, rising. "I've got partikler
business in haund. Come wi' me, Tammy. I'll want 'ee, and I'll come
back sune to see ye, auld Liz. Dinna ye tak' on aboot losin' yer place,
Su--, Miss Blake, lass. Ye'll git a better place afore lang--tak' my
word for 't."

On the way down-stairs Laidlaw and his little companion passed a tall
gentleman and two ladies who were ascending. Ere the foot of the stair
was reached, loud exclamations of recognition and joy were heard in the
regions above.

"I say!" exclaimed Tommy Splint, with wide-open eyes, "ain't they
a-goin' of it up there? Let's go back an' listen."

"Na, ye wee rascal, we'll no' gang back. If ye want to be freen's wi'
me ye'll no daur to putt yer lug to keyholes. Come awa'. It's nae
business o' yours or mine."

They had not gone far in the direction of Chancery Lane when, to their
surprise, they met Sam Blake, who had changed his mind about the visit
to Liverpool. David at once seized him by the arm, and made him walk
with them, while he explained the circumstances in which his daughter
and old Liz had been so suddenly placed.

"Wouldn't it be better for me," said Sam, "to steer straight for the
garden than to go along with you?"

"Na--ye'll gang wi' me. It's plain that they hae auld freen's veesitin'
them at the gairden, sae we'd better lat them alane. Besides, I want ye
for a wutness; I'm no much o' a polis man, nevertheless I'm gaun to try
my haund at a bit o' detective business. Just you come wi' me, and
niver say a word till ye're spoken to."

"Heave ahead then, skipper; you're in command," returned the sailor with
a quiet laugh. It was echoed by little Tommy, who was hugely pleased
with the semi-mysterious looks and nods of his Scottish friend, and
regarded the turn affairs seemed to be taking as infinitely superior to
mere ordinary mischief.

Arrived at Chancery Lane, they soon discovered the office of John
Lockhart, Esquire, Solicitor. Entering, they found the principal seated
at a table covered with papers and legal documents of all kinds. Both
the lawyer and the farmer felt, but did not show, some surprise on
looking at each other.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

DARK DESIGNS.

The lawyer was first to speak. "It strikes me I have seen you before,"
he said, looking at Laidlaw with a sharp steady gaze.

"Ay, sir, an' I've seen _you_ before," returned the latter with an
extremely simple look. "I saw ye whan I was comin' oot o' the hoose o'
Mr Speevin, whar I'm lodgin'."

"Oh, exactly!" returned the lawyer with a bland smile; "pray be seated,
gentlemen, and let me know your business."

They obeyed,--Sam Blake with an expression of stolid stupidity on his
countenance, which was powerfully suggestive of a ship's figurehead--
Tommy with an air of meekness that was almost too perfect.