“No, no,” replied Fagin, “not so bad as that. Not quite so bad.”

“What, I suppose he was⁠—”

“Wanted,” interposed Fagin. “Yes, he was wanted.”

“Very particular?” inquired Mr. Bolter.

“No,” replied Fagin, “not very. He was charged with attempting to pick a pocket, and they found a silver snuffbox on him⁠—his own, my dear, his own, for he took snuff himself, and was very fond of it. They remanded him till today, for they thought they knew the owner. Ah! he was worth fifty boxes, and I’d give the price of as many to have him back. You should have known the Dodger, my dear; you should have known the Dodger.”

“Well, but I shall know him, I hope; don’t yer think so?” said Mr. Bolter.