evidence.' That's an acquaintance to make. 'Jock Hamilton,
otherwise Sweepie,' and so on. ['Willie M'Glashan,' hum - yes,
and so on, and so on.] Ha! here's the man I want. 'William
Brodie, Deacon of the Wrights, about thirty; tall, slim, dark;
wears his own hair; is often at Clarke's, but seemingly for
purposes of amusement only; [is nephew to the Procurator-Fiscal;
is commercially sound, but has of late (it is supposed) been
short of cash; has lost much at cock-fighting;] is proud, clever,
of good repute, but is fond of adventures and secrecy, and keeps
low company.' Now, here's what I ask myself: here's this list
of the family party that drop into Mother Clarke's; it's been in
the hands of these nincompoops for weeks, and I'm the first to
cry Queer Street! Two well-known cracksmen, Badger and the Dook!
why, there's Jack in the Orchard at once. This here topsawyer
work they talk about, of course that's a chalk above Badger and
the Dook. But how about our Mohock-tradesman? 'Purposes of
amusement!' What next? Deacon of the Wrights? and wright in
their damned lingo means a kind of carpenter, I fancy? Why,
damme, it's the man's trade! I'll look you up, Mr. William
Brodie, Deacon of the Wrights. As sure as my name's Jerry Hunt,
I wouldn't take one-ninety-nine in gold for my chance of that
'ere two hundred!


SCENE III

HUNT; to him JEAN

HUNT. Well, my dear, and how about your gentleman friend now?
How about Deacon Brodie?