appointment for the day after to-morrow, she would conclude that he had drawn back. But perhaps Jack Bartley’s case would be in the newspapers on that day, and his own name might appear in the evidence before the magistrates; if Clem learnt the truth in that way, she would be not a little surprised. He had never hinted to her the means by which he had been obtaining money.
Voices began to sound from the passage within the house; several young fellows, one or other of whom probably lived here, had entered to be out of the rain. One voice, very loud and brutal, Bob quickly recognised; it was that of Ned Higgs, the ruffian with whom Bartley’s wife had taken up. The conversation was very easy to overhear; it contained no reference to the “copping” of Jack.
“Fag ends!” this and that voice kept crying.
Bob understood. One of the noble company had been fortunate enough to pick up the end of a cigar somewhere,and it was the rule among them that he who called out “Fag-ends!” established a claim for a few whiffs. In this way the delicacy was passing from mouth to mouth. That the game should end
