living in that block. Smash in their windows, break their
furniture, and, if possible, set one of the houses on fire, and that will
draw attention to that locality whilst you are operating elsewhere. By that
time, the boys will be ripe for anything. Then you had better go to a house
in Easton-street, corner of Shotwell: there is a rich nigger living there
whose plunder is worth something. I owe him an old grudge, and I want you
to pay it off for me."

"You keep me pretty busy paying your debts. What's the name of this rich
nigger?"

"Walters," replied Mr. Stevens; "everybody knows him. Now about that other
affair." Here he whispered so low, that Kinch could only learn they were
planning an attack on the house of some one, but failed in discovering the
name. McCloskey departed as soon as he had received full directions from
Mr. Stevens, and his retreating steps might be still heard upon the stairs,
when Mr. Stevens unlocked his office-door and entered.

After giving him sufficient time to get quietly seated, Kinch followed, and
delivered the clothes left with him the evening previous. He was very much
struck with Mr. Stevens's altered appearance, and, in fact, would not have
recognized him, but for his voice.

"You don't seem to be well?" remarked Kinch, inquiringly.

"No, I'm not," he replied, gruffly; "I've caught cold." As Kinch was
leaving the office, he called after him, "Did you find a paper in your shop
this morning?"

"No, sir," replied Kinch, "_I didn't_;" but mentally he observed, "My daddy
did though;" and, fearful of some other troublesome question, he took leave
immediately.

Fatigued and out of breath, Kinch arrived at the house of Mr. Walters,
where he considered it best to go and communicate what he had learned.

Mr. Walters was at dinner when he received from the maid a summons to the
parlour to see a lad, who said his business was a matter "of life or
death." He was obliged to smile at the air of importance with which Kinch
commenced the relation of what he had overheard--but the smile gave place
to a look of anxiety and indignation long ere he had finished, and at the
conclusion of the communication he was highly excited and alarmed.

"The infernal scoundrel!" exclaimed Mr. Walters. "Are you sure it was my
house?"

"Yes, sure," was Kinch's reply. "You are the only coloured person living in
the square--and he said plain enough for anybody to understand,
'Easton-street, corner of Shotwell.' I