Flash at once went up to him.

"Do you know who that fellow is, my man ?" The fellow turned savagely upon him.
"I don't know who he is; but what is that to you ?" "He is not a friend of ours," Flash said quietly; "quite the contrary.
We have known him when he was not got up like this, and we are rather curious to know what he is doing here." "Do you mean that ?" "I do; I owe the fellow a grudge." "So do I," the man growled.

"Just step up this next turning; there won't be anyone about there.

Now, then, what do yer want to know ?" "I want to know who he is." "Well, he calls himself a hawker; but my idea of him is he is one of the fancy, perhaps a west countryman, who is keeping dark here till he can get a match on.

I have been a prize fighter myself, but he knocked me out in three rounds the other day." "Well, the last time I saw him," Flash said, "he was dressed as a swell.
My idea of him is, he is a Bow Street runner, and he is got up like this to lay his hands on some of the fellows down here." "You don't mean it!" the man said with a deep oath.