"In my opinion," remarked Kneebone, "it doesn't matter how soon society is rid of two such scoundrels; and if Blueskin dies by the rope, and Jonathan by the hand of violence, they'll meet the fate they merit. “Agreed,” he said, “certainly,” and drew a checkbook toward him. “Lucy! You found me! I was just about to sleep some of those rum and Cokes off like the pig I am. " "Most likely," observed Jonathan, with a slight sneer; "the ghost of some highwayman who has just breathed his last in Newgate, no doubt. "Mr. ‘What did you do with the portrait then? Not that I suppose it is much use any longer. It’s all nonsense. And Blueskin, who, for a moment, had looked round distrustfully, concluding it was a feint, now laughed louder than ever. You, sir,” he added, turning to Brendon, “had better take my card round to the police station in Werner Street and ask that Detective Dorling be sent round here at once on urgent business.
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