should like better. I'm tired out. I want to tell my own
story at the Old Bailey, and have my revenge upon you, upon Darrell,
upon all. Send for the police."

Losely threw himself at length on the sofa--(new morocco with spring
cushions)--and folded his arms.

"You could only give me five minutes--they are gone, I fear. I am more
liberal. I give you your own time to consider. I don't care if I stay to
dine; I dare say Mrs. Poole will excuse my dress."

"Losely, you are such a--fellow! If I do give you the four pounds you
ask, will you promise to shift for yourself somehow, and molest me no
more?"

"Certainly not. I shall come once every week for the same sum. I can't
live upon less--until--"

"Until what?"

"Until either you get Mr. Darrell to settle on me a suitable provision;
or until you place me in possession of my daughter, and I can then be in
a better condition to treat with him myself; for if I would make a claim
on account of the girl, I must produce the girl, or he may say she is
dead. Besides, if she be as pretty as she was when a child, the very
sight of her might move him more than all my talk."

"And if I succeed in doing anything with Mr. Darrell, or discovering
your daughter, you will give up all such letters and documents of mine
as you say you possess?"

"'Say I possess!' I have shown them to you in this pocket-book, Dolly
Poole--your own proposition to rob old Latham's safe."

Poole eyed the book, which the ruffian took out and tapped. Had the
ruffian been a slighter man, Poole would have been a braver one. As it
was--he eyed and groaned. "Turn against one's own crony! So unhandsome,
so unlike what I thought you were."

"It is you who would turn against me. But stick to Darrell or find me my
daughter, and help her and me to get justice out of him; and you
shall not only have back these letters, but I'll pay you
handsomely--handsomely, Dolly Poole. Zooks, sir--I am fallen, but I am
always a gentleman."

Therewith Losely gave a vehement slap to his hat, which, crushed by the
stroke, improved his general appearance into an aspect so outrageously
raffish, that but for the expression of his countenance the contrast
between the boast and the man would have been ludicrous even to Mr.
Poole. The countenance was too dark to permit laughter. In the dress,
but the ruin of fortune--in the face, the ruin of man. Poole heaved a
deep sigh, and extended four sovereigns.

Losely rose and took them care