hold of his throat and choke him for half a guinea”; Mr. Cruncher

dwelt upon this as quite a liberal offer; “or I’ll out and announce

him.”

“Humph! I see one thing,” said Carton. “I hold another card,

Mr. Barsad. Impossible, here in raging Paris, with Suspicion filling

the air, for you to outlive denunciation, when you are in

communication with another aristocratic spy of the same

antecedents as yourself, who, moreover, has the mystery about

him of having feigned death and come to life again! A plot in the

prisons, of the foreigner against the Republic. A strong carda

certain Guillotine card! Do you play?”

“No!” returned the spy. “I throw up. I confess that we were so

unpopular with the outrageous mob, that I only got away from

England at the risk of being ducked to death, and that Cly was so

ferreted up and down, that he never would have got away at all

but for that sham. Though how this man knows it was a sham, is a

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wonder of wonders to me.”

“Never you trouble your head about this man,” retorted the

contentious Mr. Cruncher; “you’ll have trouble enough with giving

your attention to that gentleman. And look here! Once more!”

Mr. Cruncher could not be restrained from making rather an

ostentatious parade of his liberality“I’d catch hold of your throat

and choke you for half a guine