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"I don't know," returned the man, clapping his hands to his mouth

nevertheless, and vociferating in a surprising heat and with the

greatest ardour, "Spies! Yaha! Tst, tst! Spi--ies!"

At length, a person better informed on the merits of the case,

tumbled against him, and from this person he learned that the

funeral was the funeral of one Roger Cly.

"Was he a spy?" asked Mr. Cruncher.

"Old Bailey spy," returned his informant. "Yaha! Tst! Yah! Old

Bailey Spi--i--ies!"

"Why, to be sure!" exclaimed Jerry, recalling the Trial at which

he had assisted. "I've seen him. Dead, is he?"

"Dead as mutton," returned the other, "and can't be too dead.

Have 'em out, there! Spies! Pull 'em out, there! Spies!"