A CHILD OF THE JAGO
on the crook! It's all done, once we're inside!"
It was near midnight, and Bill Rann had observed Weech putting up his shutters at eleven. So the two Jagos walked slowly along Meakin Street, on the side opposite Weech's, with sharp eyes for the windows.
All was quiet; there was no visible light—none from the skylight over the shop door, none from the window above, none from the garret windows above that. They passed on, crossed the road, strolled back, and listened at the door; there was no sound from within. The clock in a distant steeple struck twelve, and was joined at the fourth stroke by the loud bell of St. Leonards, hard by; and ere the last mild note had sounded from the farthest clock in the awakened chorus. Josh Perrott and Bill Rann had taken the next turning, and were pushing their way to the alleys behind Weech's.
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