“Frighten him!” echoed Sikes. “It’ll be no sham frightening, mind you. If there’s anything queer about him when we once get into the work; in for a penny, in for a pound. You won’t see him alive again, Fagin. Think of that, before you send him. Mark my words!” said the robber, poising a crowbar, which he had drawn from under the bedstead.

“I’ve thought of it all,” said the Jew with energy. “I’ve⁠—I’ve had my eye upon him, my dears, close⁠—close. Once let him feel that he is one of us; once fill his mind with the idea that he has been a thief; and he’s ours! Ours for his life. Oho! It couldn’t have come about better!” The old man crossed his arms upon his breast; and, drawing his head and shoulders into a heap, literally hugged himself for joy.

“Ours!” said Sikes. “Yours, you mean.”

“Perhaps I do, my dear,” said the Jew, with a shrill chuckle. “Mine, if you like, Bill.”