"What, I suppose he was———"
"Wanted," interposed the Jew. "Yes, he was wanted."
"Very particular?" inquired Mr. Bolter.
"No," replied the Jew, "not very. He was charged with attempting to pick a pocket, and they found a silver snuff-box on him,—his own, my dear, his own, for he took snuff himself, and was very fond of it. They remanded him till to-day, for they thought they knew the owner. Ah! he was worth fifty boxes and I'd give the price of as many to have him back. You should have known the Dodger, my dear; you should have known the Dodger."
"Well, but I shall know him, I hope; don't yer think so?" said Mr. Bolter.
"I'm doubtful about it," replied the Jew, with a sigh. "If they don't get any fresh evidence it'll only be a summary conviction, and we shall have him back again after six weeks or so; but, if they do, it's a case of lagging. They know what a clever lad he is; he'll be a lifer: they'll make the Artful nothing less than a lifer."