“No takers,” replied Mr. Hazeltine with his mouth full.

“Stop a bit.  I don’t care if I make a time bet,” said Miles.  “How soon will you bet you catch him?”

“In half an hour,” was the cool reply.  And the Honorable George while making it managed at the same time in a sauntering sort of way to put himself between Robinson and the door that led out into the garden.  Robinson eyed him in silence and never moved.

“In half a hour.  That is a fair bet,” said Mr. Miles.  “Shall I take him?”

“Better not; he is a knowing one.  He has seen him to earth somewhere or he would not offer you such a bet.”

“Well, I’ll bet you five to three,” proposed the Honorable George.

“Done!”

“Done!”

Robinson put in a hasty word:  “And what is to become of Thimble-rig Jem, sir?” These words, addressed to Mr. Lascelles, produced a singular effect.  That gentleman gave an immediate shiver, as if a bullet had passed clean through him and out again, then opened his eyes and looked first at one door then at the other as if hesitating which he should go by.  Robinson continued, addressing him with marked respect, “What I mean, sir, is that there is a government reward of two hundred pounds for Thimble-rig Jem, and the police wouldn’t like to be drawn away from two hundred pounds after a poor fellow like him you saw on Monday night, one that is only suspected and no reward offered.  Now Jem is a notorious culprit.”

“Who is this Jem, my man?  What is he?” asked Mr. Lascelles with a composure that contrasted remarkably with his late emotion.

“A convict escaped from Norfolk Island, sir; an old offender.  I fell in with him once.  He has forgotten me I dare say, but I never forget a man.  They say he has grown a mustache and whiskers and passes himself off for a nob; but I could swear to him.”

“How?  By what?” cried Mr. Miles.

“If he should ever be fool enough to get in my way—­”

“Hang Thimble-rig Jem,” cried Hazeltine.  “Is it a bet, Lascelles?”

“What?”

“That you nab our one in half an hour?” Mr. Lascelles affected an aristocratic drawl.  “No, I was joking.  I couldn’t afford to leave the fire for thirty pounds.  Why should I run after the poor dayvil?  Find him yourselves.  He never annoyed me.  Got a cigar, Miles?”

After their chops, etc., the rakes went off to finish the night elsewhere.

“There, they are gone at last!  Why, Jenny, how pale you look!” said Robinson, not seeing the color of his own cheek.  “What is wrong?” Jenny answered by sitting down and bursting out crying.  Tom sat opposite her with his eyes on the ground.

“Oh, what I have gone through this day!” cried Jenny.  “Oh! oh! oh! oh!” sobbing convulsively.

What could Tom do but console her?  And she found it so agreeable to be consoled that she prolonged her distress.  An impressionable Bohemian on one side a fireplace, and a sweet, pretty girl crying on the other, what wonder that two o’clock in the morning found this pair sitting on the same side of the fire aforesaid—­her hand in his?