Sam shoved his ’and in his pocket, but he kept taking it out every now and then and ’olding his finger up to the light to look at the di’mond.  Mr. Cubbins got up to go at last, saying that he ’ad got a call to make at the police-station, and they went out together.

“Nine o’clock sharp,” he ses, as they shook hands, “on Tower Hill.”

“I’ll be there,” ses Sam.

“And, wotever you do, no noise, no calling out,” ses the tec, “and don’t mention a word of this to a living soul.”

Sam shook ’ands with ’im agin, and then, hiding his ’and in his pocket, went off ’ome, and, finding Ginger and Peter Russet wasn’t back, went off to bed.

He ’eard ’em coming upstairs in the dark in about an hour’s time, and, putting the ’and with the ring on it on the counterpane, shut ’is eyes and pretended to be fast asleep.  Ginger lit the candle, and they was both beginning to undress when Peter made a noise and pointed to Sam’s ’and.

“Wot’s up?” ses Ginger, taking the candle and going over to Sam’s bed.  “Who’ve you been robbing, you fat pirate?”

Sam kept ’is eyes shut and ’eard ’em whispering; then he felt ’em take ’is hand up and look at it.  “Where did you get it, Sam?” ses Peter.

“He’s asleep,” ses Ginger, “sound asleep.  I b’lieve if I was to put ’is finger in the candle he wouldn’t wake up.”

“You try it,” ses Sam, sitting up in bed very sharp and snatching his ’and away.  “Wot d’ye mean coming ’ome at all hours and waking me up?” “Where did you get that ring?” ses Ginger.  “Friend o’ mine,” ses Sam, very short.

“Who was it?” ses Peter.

“It’s a secret,” ses Sam.

“You wouldn’t ’ave a secret from your old pal Ginger, Sam, would you?” ses Ginger.

“Old wot?” ses Sam.  “Wot did you call me this arternoon?”

“I called you a lot o’ things I’m sorry for,” ses Ginger, who was bursting with curiosity, “and I beg your pardin, Sam.”

“Shake ’ands on it,” ses Peter, who was nearly as curious as Ginger.

They shook hands, but Sam said he couldn’t tell ’em about the ring; and several times Ginger was on the point of calling ’im the names he ’ad called ’im in the arternoon, on’y Peter trod on ’is foot and stopped him.  They wouldn’t let ’im go to sleep for talking, and at last, when ’e was pretty near tired out, he told ’em all about it.

“Going—­to ’ave your—­pocket picked?” ses Ginger, staring at ’im, when ’e had finished.

“I shall be watched over,” ses Sam.

“He’s gorn stark, staring mad,” ses Ginger.  “Wot a good job it is he’s got me and you to look arter ’im, Peter.”

“Wot d’ye mean?” ses Sam.

“Mean?” ses Ginger.  “Why, it’s a put-up job to rob you, o’ course.  I should ha’ thought even your fat ‘ead could ha’ seen that’:” 

“When I want your advice I’ll ask you for it,” ses Sam, losing ’is temper.  “Wot about the di’mond ring—­eh?”