"
"Yes," Phil went on, "I remembered it, too. And I waited for a glimpse
of the robber's face. He stepped out, and the constable, with a
comrade from inside the chaise, led him to where they hold prisoners
for examination. He was all mud-stained, dishevelled, and frowsy: for
two seconds, though he didn't notice me, I had a good view of him. And
who do you think this Howard really was?"
"Bless me, how should I know? My acquaintance among the criminal
classes isn't what it might be."
"'Twas Ned Faringfield!" said Philip. "I should have known him
anywhere--heavens, how little a man's looks change, through all
vicissitudes!"
"Well, upon my soul!" I exclaimed, in a chill. "Who'd have thought it?
Yet hanging is what we always predicted for him, in jest. That it
should come so soon--for they'll make short work of that case, 'tis
certain."
"Yes, I fear they'll not lose much time over it, at the Old Bailey. We
may expect to read his name among the Newgate hangings in a month or
two. Poor devil!--I'll send him some money through my lawyer, and have
Nobbs see that he gets decent counsel. Money will enable him to live
his last weeks at Newgate in comfort, at least; though 'tis beyond
counsel to save his neck. His people must never know. Nor Fanny."
"Unless he gives his real name at the trial, or in his 'last dying
speech and confession.'"
"Why, even then it may not come to their ears.
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