Chapter XXVI

by Charles Dickens

　　In Which a Mysterious Character Appears Upon the Scene; and Many Things,inseparable From this History, Are Done and PerformedThe old man had gained the street corner, before he began torecover the effect of Toby Crackit's intelligence. He hadrelaxed nothing of his unusual speed; but was still pressingonward, in the same wild and disordered manner, when the suddendashing past of a carriage: and a boisterous cry from the footpassengers, who saw his danger: drove him back upon thepavement. Avoiding, as much as was possible, all the mainstreets, and skulking only through the by-ways and alleys, he atlength emerged on Snow Hill. Here he walked even faster thanbefore; nor did he linger until he had again turned into a court;when, as if conscious that he was now in his proper element, hefell into his usual shuffling pace, and seemed to breathe morefreely.Near to the spot on which Snow Hill and Holborn Hill meet, opens,upon the right hand as you come out of the City, a narrow anddismal alley, leading to Saffron Hill. In its filthy shops areexposed for sale huge bunches of second-hand silk handkerchiefs,of all sizes and patterns; for here reside the traders whopurchase them from pick-pockets. Hundreds of these handkerchiefshang dangling from pegs outside the windows or flaunting from thedoor-posts; and the shelves, within, are piled with them.Confined as the limits of Field Lane are, it has its barber, itscoffee-shop, its beer-shop, and its fried-fish warehouse. It isa commercial colony of itself: the emporium of petty larceny:visited at early morning, and setting-in of dusk, by silentmerchants, who traffic in dark back-parlours, and who go asstrangely as they come. Here, the clothesman, the shoe-vamper,and the rag-merchant, display their goods, as sign-boards to thepetty thief; here, stores of old iron and bones, and heaps ofmildewy fragments of woollen-stuff and linen, rust and rot in thegrimy cellars.It was into this place that the Jew turned. He was well known tothe sallow denizens of the lane; for such of them as were on thelook-out to buy or sell, nodded, familiarly, as he passed along.He replied to their salutations in the same way; but bestowed nocloser recognition until he reached the further end of the alley;when he stopped, to address a salesman of small stature, who hadsqueezed as much of his person into a child's chair as the chairwould hold, and was smoking a pipe at his warehouse door.'Why, the sight of you, Mr. Fagin, would cure the hoptalymy!'said this respectable trader, in acknowledgment of the Jew'sinquiry after his health.'The neighbourhood was a little too hot, Lively,' said Fagin,elevating his eyebrows, and crossing his hands upon hisshoulders.'Well, I've heerd that complaint of it, once or twice before,'replied the trader; 'but it soon cools down again; don't you findit so?'Fagin nodded in the affirmative. Pointing in the direction ofSaffron Hill, he inquired whether any one was up yonder to-night.'At the Cripples?' inquired the man.The Jew nodded.'Let me see,' pursued the merchant, reflecting.'Yes, there's some half-dozen of 'em gone in, that I knows. Idon't think your friend's there.''Sikes is not, I suppose?' inquired the Jew, with a disappointedcountenance.'Non istwentus, as the lawyers say,' replied the little man,shaking his head, and looking amazingly sly. 'Have you gotanything in my line to-night?''Nothing to-night,' said the Jew, turning away.'Are you going up to the Cripples, Fagin?' cried the little man,calling after him. 'Stop! I don't mind if I have a drop therewith you!'But as the Jew, looking back, waved his hand to intimate that hepreferred being alone; and, moreover, as the little man could notvery easily disengage himself from the chair; the sign of theCripples was, for a time, bereft of the advantage of Mr. Lively'spresence. By the time he had got upon his legs, the Jew haddisappeared; so Mr. Lively, after ineffectually standing ontiptoe, in the hope of catching sight of him, again forcedhimself into the little chair, and, exchanging a shake of thehead with a lady in the opposite shop, in which doubt andmistrust were plainly mingled, resumed his pipe with a gravedemeanour.The Three Cripples, or rather the Cripples; which was the sign bywhich the establishment was familiarly known to its patrons: wasthe public-house in which Mr. Sikes and his dog have alreadyfigured. Merely making a sign to a man at the bar, Fagin walkedstraight upstairs, and opening the door of a room, and softlyinsinuating himself into the chamber, looked anxiously about:shading his eyes with his hand, as if in search of someparticular person.The room was illuminated by two gas-lights; the glare of whichwas prevented by the barred shutters, and closely-drawn curtainsof faded red, from being visible outside. The ceiling wasblackened, to prevent its colour from being injured by theflaring of the lamps; and the place was so full of dense tobaccosmoke, that at first it was scarcely possible to discern anythingmore. By degrees, however, as some of it cleared away throughthe open door, an assemblage of heads, as confused as the noisesthat greeted the ear, might be made out; and as the eye grew moreaccustomed to the scene, the spectator gradually became aware ofthe presence of a numerous company, male and female, crowdedround a long table: at the upper end of which, sat a chairmanwith a hammer of office in his hand; while a professionalgentleman with a bluish nose, and his face tied up for thebenefit of a toothache, presided at a jingling piano in a remotecorner.As Fagin stepped softly in, the professional gentleman, runningover the keys by way of prelude, occasioned a general cry oforder for a song; which having subsided, a young lady proceededto entertain the company with a ballad in four verses, betweeneach of which the accompanyist played the melody all through, asloud as he could. When this was over, the chairman gave asentiment, after which, the professional gentleman on thechairman's right and left volunteered a duet, and sang it, withgreat applause.It was curious to observe some faces which stood out prominentlyfrom among the group. There was the chairman himself, (thelandlord of the house,) a coarse, rough, heavy built fellow, who,while the songs were proceeding, rolled his eyes hither andthither, and, seeming to give himself up to joviality, had an eyefor everything that was done, and an ear for everything that wassaid--and sharp ones, too. Near him were the singers:receiving, with professional indifference, the compliments of thecompany, and applying themselves, in turn, to a dozen profferedglasses of spirits and water, tendered by their more boisterousadmirers; whose countenances, expressive of almost every vice inalmost every grade, irresistibly attracted the attention, bytheir very repulsiveness. Cunning, ferocity, and drunkeness inall its stages, were there, in their strongest aspect; and women:some with the last lingering tinge of their early freshnessalmost fading as you looked: others with every mark and stamp oftheir sex utterly beaten out, and presenting but one loathsomeblank of profligacy and crime; some mere girls, others but youngwomen, and none past the prime of life; formed the darkest andsaddest portion of this dreary picture.Fagin, troubled by no grave emotions, looked eagerly from face toface while these proceedings were in progress; but apparentlywithout meeting that of which he was in search. Succeeding, atlength, in catching the eye of the man who occupied the chair, hebeckoned to him slightly, and left the room, as quietly as he hadentered it.'What can I do for you, Mr. Fagin?' inquired the man, as hefollowed him out to the landing. 'Won't you join us? They'll bedelighted, every one of 'em.'The Jew shook his head impatiently, and said in a whisper, 'Is hehere?''No,' replied the man.'And no news of Barney?' inquired Fagin.'None,' replied the landlord of the Cripples; for it was he. 'Hewon't stir till it's all safe. Depend on it, they're on thescent down there; and that if he moved, he'd blow upon the thingat once. He's all right enough, Barney is, else I should haveheard of him. I'll pound it, that Barney's managing properly.Let him alone for that.''Will he be here to-night?' asked the Jew, laying the sameemphasis on the pronoun as before.'Monks, do you mean?' inquired the landlord, hesitating.'Hush!' said the Jew. 'Yes.''Certain,' replied the man, drawing a gold watch from his fob; 'Iexpected him here before now. If you'll wait ten minutes, he'llbe--''No, no,' said the Jew, hastily; as though, however desirous hemight be to see the person in question, he was neverthelessrelieved by his absence. 'Tell him I came here to see him; andthat he must come to me to-night. No, say to-morrow. As he isnot here, to-morrow will be time enough.''Good!' said the man. 'Nothing more?''Not a word now,' said the Jew, descending the stairs.'I say,' said the other, looking over the rails, and speaking ina hoarse whisper; 'what a time this would be for a sell! I'vegot Phil Barker here: so drunk, that a boy might take him!''Ah! But it's not Phil Barker's time,' said the Jew, looking up.'Phil has something more to do, before we can afford to part withhim; so go back to the company, my dear, and tell them to leadmerry lives--while they last. Ha! ha! ha!'The landlord reciprocated the old man's laugh; and returned tohis guests. The Jew was no sooner alone, than his countenanceresumed its former expression of anxiety and thought. After abrief reflection, he called a hack-cabriolet, and bade the mandrive towards Bethnal Green. He dismissed him within some quarterof a mile of Mr. Sikes's residence, and performed the shortremainder of the distance, on foot.'Now,' muttered the Jew, as he knocked at the door, 'if there isany deep play here, I shall have it out of you, my girl, cunningas you are.'She was in her room, the woman said. Fagin crept softlyupstairs, and entered it without any previous ceremony. The girlwas alone; lying with her head upon the table, and her hairstraggling over it.'She has been drinking,' thought the Jew, cooly, 'or perhaps sheis only miserable.'The old man turned to close the door, as he made this reflection;the noise thus occasioned, roused the girl. She eyed his craftyface narrowly, as she inquired to his recital of Toby Crackit'sstory. When it was concluded, she sank into her former attitude,but spoke not a word. She pushed the candle impatiently away;and once or twice as she feverishly changed her position,shuffled her feet upon the ground; but this was all.During the silence, the Jew looked restlessly about the room, asif to assure himself that there were no appearances of Sikeshaving covertly returned. Apparently satisfied with hisinspection, he coughed twice or thrice, and made as many effortsto open a conversation; but the girl heeded him no more than ifhe had been made of stone. At length he made another attempt;and rubbing his hands together, said, in his most concilitorytone,'And where should you think Bill was now, my dear?'The girl moaned out some half intelligible reply, that she couldnot tell; and seemed, from the smothered noise that escaped her,to be crying.'And the boy, too,' said the Jew, straining his eyes to catch aglimpse of her face. 'Poor leetle child! Left in a ditch,Nance; only think!''The child,' said the girl, suddenly looking up, 'is better wherehe is, than among us; and if no harm comes to Bill from it, Ihope he lies dead in the ditch and that his young bones may rotthere.''What!' cried the Jew, in amazement.'Ay, I do,' returned the girl, meeting his gaze. 'I shall beglad to have him away from my eyes, and to know that the worst isover. I can't bear to have him about me. The sight of him turnsme against myself, and all of you.''Pooh!' said the Jew, scornfully. 'You're drunk.''Am I?' cried the girl bitterly. 'It's no fault of yours, if Iam not! You'd never have me anything else, if you had your will,except now;--the humour doesn't suit you, doesn't it?''No!' rejoined the Jew, furiously. 'It does not.''Change it, then!' responded the girl, with a laugh.'Change it!' exclaimed the Jew, exasperated beyond all bounds byhis companion's unexpected obstinacy, and the vexation of thenight, 'I will change it! Listen to me, you drab. Listen to me,who with six words, can strangle Sikes as surely as if I had hisbull's throat between my fingers now. If he comes back, andleaves the boy behind him; if he gets off free, and dead oralive, fails to restore him to me; murder him yourself if youwould have him escape Jack Ketch. And do it the moment he setsfoot in this room, or mind me, it will be too late!''What is all this?' cried the girl involuntarily.'What is it?' pursued Fagin, mad with rage. 'When the boy'sworth hundreds of pounds to me, am I to lose what chance threw mein the way of getting safely, through the whims of a drunken gangthat I could whistle away the lives of! And me bound, too, to aborn devil that only wants the will, and has the power to, to--'Panting for breath, the old man stammered for a word; and in thatinstant checked the torrent of his wrath, and changed his wholedemeanour. A moment before, his clenched hands had grasped theair; his eyes had dilated; and his face grown livid with passion;but now, he shrunk into a chair, and, cowering together, trembledwith the apprehension of having himself disclosed some hiddenvillainy. After a short silence, he ventured to look round athis companion. He appeared somewhat reassured, on beholding herin the same listless attitude from which he had first roused her.'Nancy, dear!' croaked the Jew, in his usual voice. 'Did youmind me, dear?''Don't worry me now, Fagin!' replied the girl, raising her headlanguidly. 'If Bill has not done it this time, he will another.He has done many a good job for you, and will do many more whenhe can; and when he can't he won't; so no more about that.''Regarding this boy, my dear?' said the Jew, rubbing the palms ofhis hands nervously together.'The boy must take his chance with the rest,' interrupted Nancy,hastily; 'and I say again, I hope he is dead, and out of harm'sway, and out of yours,--that is, if Bill comes to no harm. Andif Toby got clear off, Bill's pretty sure to be safe; for Bill'sworth two of Toby any time.''And about what I was saying, my dear?' observed the Jew, keepinghis glistening eye steadily upon her.'Your must say it all over again, if it's anything you want me todo,' rejoined Nancy; 'and if it is, you had better wait tillto-morrow. You put me up for a minute; but now I'm stupidagain.'Fagin put several other questions: all with the same drift ofascertaining whether the girl had profited by his unguardedhints; but, she answered them so readily, and was withal soutterly unmoved by his searching looks, that his originalimpression of her being more than a trifle in liquor, wasconfirmed. Nancy, indeed, was not exempt from a failing whichwas very common among the Jew's female pupils; and in which, intheir tenderer years, they were rather encouraged than checked.Her disordered appearance, and a wholesale perfume of Genevawhich pervaded the apartment, afforded stong confirmatoryevidence of the justice of the Jew's supposition; and when, afterindulging in the temporary display of violence above described,she subsided, first into dullness, and afterwards into a compoundof feelings: under the influence of which she shed tears oneminute, and in the next gave utterance to various exclamations of'Never say die!' and divers calculations as to what might be theamount of the odds so long as a lady or gentleman was happy, Mr.Fagin, who had had considerable experience of such matters in histime, saw, with great satisfaction, that she was very far goneindeed.Having eased his mind by this discovery; and having accomplishedhis twofold object of imparting to the girl what he had, thatnight, heard, and of ascertaining, with his own eyes, that Sikeshad not returned, Mr. Fagin again turned his face homeward:leaving his young friend asleep, with her head upon the table.It was within an hour of midnight. The weather being dark, andpiercing cold, he had no great temptation to loiter. The sharpwind that scoured the streets, seemed to have cleared them ofpassengers, as of dust and mud, for few people were abroad, andthey were to all appearance hastening fast home. It blew from theright quarter for the Jew, however, and straight before it hewent: trembling, and shivering, as every fresh gust drove himrudely on his way.He had reached the corner of his own street, and was alreadyfumbling in his pocket for the door-key, when a dark figureemerged from a projecting entrance which lay in deep shadow, and,crossing the road, glided up to him unperceived.'Fagin!' whispered a voice close to his ear.'Ah!' said the Jew, turning quickly round, 'is that--''Yes!' interrupted the stranger. 'I have been lingering herethese two hours. Where the devil have you been?''On your business, my dear,' replied the Jew, glancing uneasilyat his companion, and slackening his pace as he spoke. 'On yourbusiness all night.''Oh, of course!' said the stranger, with a sneer. 'Well; andwhat's come of it?''Nothing good,' said the Jew.'Nothing bad, I hope?' said the stranger, stopping short, andturning a startled look on his companion.The Jew shook his head, and was about to reply, when thestranger, interrupting him, motioned to the house, before whichthey had by this time arrived: remarking, that he had better saywhat he had got to say, under cover: for his blood was chilledwith standing about so long, and the wind blew through him.Fagin looked as if he could have willingly excused himself fromtaking home a visitor at that unseasonable hour; and, indeed,muttered something about having no fire; but his companionrepeating his request in a peremptory manner, he unlocked thedoor, and requested him to close it softly, while he got a light.'It's as dark as the grave,' said the man, groping forward a fewsteps. 'Make haste!''Shut the door,' whispered Fagin from the end of the passage. Ashe spoke, it closed with a loud noise.'That wasn't my doing,' said the other man, feeling his way. 'Thewind blew it to, or it shut of its own accord: one or the other.Look sharp with the light, or I shall knock my brains out againstsomething in this confounded hole.'Fagin stealthily descended the kitchen stairs. After a shortabsence, he returned with a lighted candle, and the intelligencethat Toby Crackit was asleep in the back room below, and that theboys were in the front one. Beckoning the man to follow him, heled the way upstairs.'We can say the few words we've got to say in here, my dear,'said the Jew, throwing open a door on the first floor; 'and asthere are holes in the shutters, and we never show lights to ourneighbours, we'll set the candle on the stairs. There!'With those words, the Jew, stooping down, placed the candle on anupper flight of stairs, exactly opposite to the room door. Thisdone, he led the way into the apartment; which was destitute ofall movables save a broken arm-chair, and an old couch or sofawithout covering, which stood behind the door. Upon this pieceof furniture, the stranger sat himself with the air of a wearyman; and the Jew, drawing up the arm-chair opposite, they satface to face. It was not quite dark; the door was partiallyopen; and the candle outside, threw a feeble reflection on theopposite wall.They conversed for some time in whispers. Though nothing of theconversation was distinguishable beyond a few disjointed wordshere and there, a listener might easily have perceived that Faginappeared to be defending himself against some remarks of thestranger; and that the latter was in a state of considerableirritation. They might have been talking, thus, for a quarter ofan hour or more, when Monks--by which name the Jew had designatedthe strange man several times in the course of theircolloquy--said, raising his voice a little,'I tell you again, it was badly planned. Why not have kept himhere among the rest, and made a sneaking, snivelling pickpocketof him at once?''Only hear him!' exclaimed the Jew, shrugging his shoulders.'Why, do you mean to say you couldn't have done it, if you hadchosen?' demanded Monks, sternly. 'Haven't you done it, withother boys, scores of times? If you had had patience for atwelvemonth, at most, couldn't you have got him convicted, andsent safely out of the kingdom; perhaps for life?''Whose turn would that have served, my dear?' inquired the Jewhumbly.'Mine,' replied Monks.'But not mine,' said the Jew, submissively. 'He might havebecome of use to me. When there are two parties to a bargain, itis only reasonable that the interests of both should beconsulted; is it, my good friend?''What then?' demanded Monks.'I saw it was not easy to train him to the business,' replied theJew; 'he was not like other boys in the same circumstances.''Curse him, no!' muttered the man, 'or he would have been athief, long ago.''I had no hold upon him to make him worse,' pursued the Jew,anxiously watching the countenance of his companion. 'His handwas not in. I had nothing to frighten him with; which we alwaysmust have in the beginning, or we labour in vain. What could Ido? Send him out with the Dodger and Charley? We had enough ofthat, at first, my dear; I trembled for us all.''That was not my doing,' observed Monks.'No, no, my dear!' renewed the Jew. 'And I don't quarrel with itnow; because, if it had never happened, you might never haveclapped eyes on the boy to notice him, and so led to thediscovery that it was him you were looking for. Well! I got himback for you by means of the girl; and then she begins to favourhim.''Throttle the girl!' said Monks, impatiently.'Why, we can't afford to do that just now, my dear,' replied theJew, smiling; 'and, besides, that sort of thing is not in ourway; or, one of these days, I might be glad to have it done. Iknow what these girls are, Monks, well. As soon as the boybegins to harden, she'll care no more for him, than for a blockof wood. You want him made a thief. If he is alive, I can makehim one from this time; and, if--if--' said the Jew, drawingnearer to the other,--'it's not likely, mind,--but if the worstcomes to the worst, and he is dead--''It's no fault of mine if he is!' interposed the other man, witha look of terror, and clasping the Jew's arm with tremblinghands. 'Mind that. Fagin! I had no hand in it. Anything buthis death, I told you from the first. I won't shed blood; it'salways found out, and haunts a man besides. If they shot himdead, I was not the cause; do you hear me? Fire this infernalden! What's that?''What!' cried the Jew, grasping the coward round the body, withboth arms, as he sprung to his feet. 'Where?''Yonder! replied the man, glaring at the opposite wall. 'Theshadow! I saw the shadow of a woman, in a cloak and bonnet, passalong the wainscot like a breath!'The Jew released his hold, and they rushed tumultuously from theroom. The candle, wasted by the draught, was standing where ithad been placed. It showed them only the empty staircase, andtheir own white faces. They listened intently: a profoundsilence reigned throughout the house.'It's your fancy,' said the Jew, taking up the light and turningto his companion.'I'll swear I saw it!' replied Monks, trembling. 'It was bendingforward when I saw it first; and when I spoke, it darted away.'The Jew glanced contemptuously at the pale face of his associate,and, telling him he could follow, if he pleased, ascended thestairs. They looked into all the rooms; they were cold, bare,and empty. They descended into the passage, and thence into thecellars below. The green damp hung upon the low walls; thetracks of the snail and slug glistened in the light of thecandle; but all was still as death.'What do you think now?' said the Jew, when they had regained thepassage. 'Besides ourselves, there's not a creature in the houseexcept Toby and the boys; and they're safe enough. See here!'As a proof of the fact, the Jew drew forth two keys from hispocket; and explained, that when he first went downstairs, he hadlocked them in, to prevent any intrusion on the conference.This accumulated testimony effectually staggered Mr. Monks. Hisprotestations had gradually become less and less vehement as theyproceeded in their search without making any discovery; and, now,he gave vent to several very grim laughs, and confessed it couldonly have been his excited imagination. He declined any renewalof the conversation, however, for that night: suddenlyremembering that it was past one o'clock. And so the amiablecouple parted.