some of his portion upon the floor, but his kind host never noticed it. He was next invited to take a pinch from a silver-mounted horn snuff-box. This he refused as politely as his state of mind would permit. He trembled to know whether the old gentleman had really eschewed all accounts of the murder. To make certain he hazarded a leading question.
“It seems to be a queer affair, sir. Do you think they’ll ever catch him?”
“My good fellow, I haven’t read the case.”
Tom drew a deep breath and tossed off his negus at a gulp. At that moment there came a knock at the door, and a small maid entered.
“Ready, Mary?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then come this way, my dear young gentleman,” the old one said, with his most benevolent smile. “Upstairs—follow the maid—I will follow you.”
Tom hesitated, but gave in without a word. He was, indeed, as hungry as he was grateful, and he followed the servant upstairs, with the jolly old fellow chatting pleasantly at his heels.
“The shoes you shall have immediately. What, would you shake my hand? Ah, my good fellow, I fear it’s but meagre entertainment that I can offer you. Well, well, if you insist! But that’s the door; pray walk in. He! he! he! he!”
And ere the chirruping laugh had ended, Tom’s flight was over, and he was in the hands of two policemen, who had securely pinned him by either arm. Resistance was useless. But from the officers’ faces a last hope flickered in his breast.
“What do you want me for?” he cried.
