The String of Pearls; Or, The Barber of Fleet Street. A Domestic Romance.
become something more than a mere object of suspicion to the police.
Well, they knew Todd's guilt--it was the mode in which he was guilty
only that still remained a mystery. The moment Sir Richard Blunt reached
the attic again, he held his arm out at full length from the window, and
waved to and fro the little lantern as a signal to the officers in the
street that he was safe. This done, he would not return to the room he
had hired of the bootmaker, but he resolved to wait about ten minutes
longer in case anything should happen in the house below that might
sound alarming. After that period of time, he resolved upon leaving for
an hour or two, but he, of course, would not do so without apprising his
officers of Crotchet's situation. During the time that had been passed
by Crotchet and Sir Richard Blunt in Sweeney Todd's house, the shoemaker
and his wife had had an adventure which created in their minds abundance
of surprise. It will be recollected that the shoemaker's wife had
decided upon what was to be done regarding the new lodger--namely, that
under the pretence that a Mr. Jones was a more satisfactory lodger, he
was to be asked to be so good as to quit the attic he had so strangely
taken. The arrival of Mr. Crotchet with so different a story from that
told by Sir Richard Blunt certainly had the effect of engendering many
suspicions in the minds of Sir Richard's new landlord and landlady.
"Well, my dear," said the shoemaker, "if you are willing to come up
stairs, I will say what you wish to this man, particularly as his
pretended friend don't seem to be coming down stairs again."
"Very well, my dear; I'll take the kitchen poker and follow you, and
while I am behind you, if I think he is a pleasant man, you know, and we
had better let him stay, I will give you a slight poke."
"A-hem! Thank you--yes."
Armed with the poker, the lady of the mansion followed her husband up
the staircase, and perhaps we may fairly say that curiosity was as
strong a feeling with her as any other in the business. To tell the
truth, the shoemaker did not half like the job; but what will a man, who
is under proper control at home, not do to keep up the shallow treaty of
peace which his compliance produces between him and his better half? Is
there anything which a hen-pecked husband dares say he will not do, when
the autocrat of his domestic hearth bids him do it? Up--up the long dark
staircase they went! Our ancestors, as one of their pieces of wisdom,
had a knack of making steep dark staircases; and, to tell the truth,
there are many modern architects equally ingenious. At length the attic
landing was reached. The shoemaker knew the localities of his house
better than to make such a mistake as Crotchet had done; so the old
lady, with her feet in the pan of water, was saved such another
interruption as had already taken place into her peaceful domains.
"Now, my dear, knock boldly," said the lady of the mansion. "Knock like
a man."
"Yes, my love."
The shoemaker tapped at the door with about the energy of a fly. The
soft appeal produced no effect whatever, and the lady growing impatient,
then poised the poker, and dealt the door a blow which induced her
husband to start aside, lest the lodger should open it quickly, and rush
out in great wrath. All was profoundly still, however; and then they
tried the lock, and found it fast.
"He's gone to bed," said the shoemaker.
"He can't," said the lady, "for there are no sheets on the bed. Besides,
they have not both gone to bed. I tell you what it is. There's some
mystery in this that I should like to find out. Now, all the keys of all
the attics are alike. Just wait here, and I'll borrow Mrs.
Macconikie's."
The shoemaker waited in no small amount of trepidation, while this
process of key-borrowing from the old lady who enjoyed a pan of water,
took place upon the part of his wife.
CHAPTER XL.
CROTCHET ASTONISHES MR. TODD.
The key was soon procured, but it will be recollected that Crotchet had
fastened the door rather too securely for it to be opened by any such
ordinary implement as a key, and so disappointment was the portion of
the shoemaker's wife.
"Don't you think, my love," said the shoemaker, "that it will be just as
well to leave this affair until the morning, before taking any further
notice of it?"
"And pray, then, am I to sleep all night, if I don't know the rights of
it, I should like to know? Perhaps, if you can tell me that, you are a
little wiser than I think you. Marry, come up!"
"Oh, well, I only--"
"You only! Then only don't. That's the only favour I ask of you, sir, is
to only don't."
What extraordinary favour this was, the lady did not condescend to
explain any more particulars, but it was quite enough for the husband to
understand that a storm was brewing, and to become humble and submissive
accordingly.
"Well, my dear, I'm sure I only wish you to do just what you like;
that's all, my dear, I'm sure."
"Very good."
After this, she made the most vigorous efforts to get into the attic,
and if any one had been there--which at that juncture there was
not--they might truly have asked "Who's that knocking at the door?"
Finding that all her efforts were ineffectual, she took to peeping
through the key-hole, but nothing was to be seen; and then, for the
first time, the idea struck her that there was something supernatural
about the business, and in a few moments this notion gained sufficient
strength to engender some lively apprehensions.
"I tell you what," she said to her husband, "if you don't fetch a
constable at once, and have the door opened, and see all about, I'm
afraid--indeed I'm quite sure--I shall be very ill."
"Oh, dear--oh, dear."
"It's of no use your standing here and saying 'Oh, dear,' like a great
stupid as you are--always was and always will be. Go for a constable, at
once."
"A constable?"
"Yes, There's Mr. Otton, the beadle of St. Dunstan's, lives opposite, as
you well know, and he's a constable. Run over the way and fetch him,
this minute."
She began hastily to descend the stairs, and the shoemaker followed her,
remonstrating, for the idea of fetching a constable, and making him and
his house the talk of the whole neighbourhood, was by no means a
proposition that met with his approval. The lady was positive, however,
and Mr. Otton, the beadle of St. Dunstan's, was brought from over the
way, and the case stated to him at length.
"_Conwulsions!_" exclaimed Otton, "what can I do?"
"_Burst_ open the door," said the lady.
"_Burst_ a door open, mum! What is you a thinking on? Why, that's
contrary to _Habus Corpus_, mum, and all that sort of thing.
Conwulsions, mum! you mustn't do it. But I tell you what, now, will be
the thing."
Here Mr. Otton put his finger to the side of his nose, and looked so
cunning that you would hardly have believed it possible.
"What?--what?"
"Why, suppose, mum, we ask Mr. Todd, next door, to give us leave to go
up into his attic, and get out at the window and look in at yours, mum?"
"That'll do. Run in--"
"Me!" cried the shoemaker. "Oh, M--Mr. Todd is a strange man--a very
strange man--not at all a neighbourly sort of man, and I don't like to
go to him.--I won't go, that's flat--unless, my love, you particularly
wish it."
"Conwulsions!" cried the beadle. "Ain't I a-going with you? Ain't I a
constabulary force, I should like to know? Conwulsions! What is yer
afeard on? Come on. Lor, what's the meaning o' that, I wonders, now; I
should just like to take that ere fellow up. Whoever heard of a horn
being blowed at such a rate, in the middle o' Fleet-street, afore,
unless it was somethin' as consarned the parish? Conwulsions! it's
contrary to _Habus Corpus_, it is. Is me a constabulary force, or is me
not?"
This was the bugle sound which warned Sir Richard Blunt and his friend
Crotchet that Sweeney Todd had returned to his shop; and, in fact, while
this very conversation was going on at the shoemaker's, Todd had lit the
lamp in his shop, and actually opened it for business again, as the
evening was by no means very far advanced. Mr. Otton went to the door,
and looked about for the audacious bugle player, but he was not to be
seen; so he returned to the back parlour of the shoemaker, uttering his
favourite expletive of "Conwulsions" very frequently.
"Now, if you is ready," he said, "I is; so let's come at once, and speak
to Mr. Todd. He may be a strange man, but for all that, he knows, I
_dessay_, what's proper respect to a _beetle_."
With this strange transformation of his own title upon his lips, Mr.
Otton stalked on rather majestically, as he thought, to the street, and
thence to Todd's shop door, with the shoemaker following him. The gait
of the latter expressed reluctance, and there was a dubious expression
upon his face, which was quite amusing to behold.
"Really, Mr. Otton," he said, "don't you think, after all, it would be
better to leave this affair alone till the morning? We can easily tell
my wife, you know, that Mr. Todd won't let us into his attic. That must
satisfy her, for what can she say to it?"
"Sir," said the beadle, "when you call in the _constabullary_ force, you
must do just what they say, or lasteways you acts contrary to _Habus
Corpuses_. Come on. Conwulsions! is we to be brought over the street,
and then is we to do nothing to go down to prosperity?"
The beadle uttered these words with such an air of pomposity and
importance that the shoemaker, who had a vague idea that _Habus Corpus_
was some fearful engine of the law at the command of all its
administrators, no longer offered any opposition, but, as meekly as any
lamb, followed Mr. Otton into Sweeney Todd's shop. The door yielded to a
touch, and Mr. Otton presented his full rubicund countenance to the gaze
of Sweeney Todd, who was at the further end of the shop, as though he
had just come from the parlour at the back of it, or was just going
there. He did not at first see the shoemaker, who was rather obscured by
the portly person of the beadle, and Todd's first idea was, the most
natural one in the world, namely, that the beadle came upon an emergency
to be shaved. Giving him an hideous leer, Todd said--
"A fine night for a clean shave."
"Werry. In course, Mr. T., you is the best judge o' that 'ere, but I
does for myself."
As he spoke, Mr. Otton rubbed his chin, to intimate that it was to his
shaving himself that he alluded just then.
"Hair cut?" said Todd, giving a snap to the blades of a large pair of
scissors, that made Mr. Otton jump again, and nearly induced the
shoemaker to run out of the shop into the street.
"No," said the beadle; and taking off his hat, he felt his hair, as
though to satisfy himself that it was all there, just as usual. "No."
Todd looked as though he would have shaved him with extreme pleasure,
and advancing a few steps, he added--
"Then what is it that you bring your wieldy carcase here for, you gross
lump of stupidity? Ha! ha! ha!"
"What? Conwulsions!"
"Pho!--Pho! Can't you take a joke, Mr. Otton? I know you well enough.
It's my funny way to call people, whom I admire very much, all the hard
names I can think of."
"Is it?"
"Oh, dear, yes. I thought you and all my neighbours knew that well
enough. I'm one of the drollest dogs alive. That I am. Won't you sit
down?"
"Well, Mr. Todd, a joke may be a joke." The beadle looked very
sententious at this discovery. "But you have the oddest way of poking
your fun at any one that ever I heard of; but, I comes to you now as a
respectable parishioner, to--"
"Oh," said Todd, putting his hands, very deliberately into his pockets,
"how much?"
"It ain't anything to pay. It's a mere trifle. I just want to go up to