THE SUBTERRANEAN.
The violence of the concussion threw Richard backwards; and in a moment
he felt the rough hand of a man grasp him by the throat.
"Who is it?" was the demand simultaneously put to him.
"I will answer you when we are on equal terms," replied Markham; and,
hurling the man away from him, he sprang upon his feet. "Now—stand off,"
he cried; "for I am not to be injured with impunity."
"I don't want to injure you," said the man. "But who are you? I know by
your voice that you're not one of us."
"You then are an inmate of this house?" observed Markham, fencing with
the other's question.
At that instant another hollow groan echoed through the subterranean.
"She lives!" cried the man; and in another moment Markham heard him
drawing back the bolts of the massive door which he had observed in the
scullery.
Richard groped his way towards him, and said, "_She lives?_ whom do you
allude to? Surely there cannot be a female imprisoned——"
"Be silent, in the name of heaven!" interrupted the man, in a whisper.
"The life of an unhappy woman depends upon your secrecy—whoever you may
be."
"Then would I rather aid than harm you and her, both," answered Markham.
Another groan was heard; and Richard could now distinguish the direction
from which it came.
But still the massive door remained unopened.
"This bolt,—this bolt!" muttered the man in a tone expressive of
commingled rage and despair. "Oh! for a light!"
"Can you not procure one?" demanded Richard.
"Stay," said the man—"a good thought! There should be candles somewhere
here—and matches. By Jove! here is a candle—and, on this shelf—yes—here
are matches also!"
The man struck a light.
By a natural impulse he and Markham immediately cast scrutinising
glances at each other.
"Ah! I thought so by your voice—you are a gentleman," said the man:
"then you will not betray me?"
"Betray you!" repeated Markham, surprised at this observation.
"I will tell you what I mean presently: there is no time to be lost!
Hark—another groan: she is dying!"
The man, who was tall and good-looking, and evidently not a scion of the
Bohemian race—gave Markham the candle, and proceeded to open the massive
door, the presence of the light enabling him to remove the fastenings
with ease.
He then beckoned Richard to follow him into the cellar, where he
instantly set to work to draw the bolts of a second door.
This task was speedily accomplished; and as the door grated upon its
hinges, another heart-wrung moan emanated from the interior of the
second vault.
The man rushed in; Markham followed with the light, and beheld a woman
stretched almost lifeless upon the mattress.
The groans had all along emanated from her lips:—then where was the
Resurrection Man?
"Margaret—cheer up—it's me—it's Skilligalee—I'm come to save you," said
the protector of the Rattlesnake as he bent over her.
"How long has she been immured here?" inquired Markham.
"Only three or four hours," answered Skilligalee; "and so it must be
fright that has half killed her. Pray get some water, sir—there's plenty
in the scullery."
Markham hastened to comply with this request; and Skilligalee bathed the
woman's face with the refreshing element.
She opened her eyes, and a smile came over her faded countenance as she
caught sight of the friendly face that greeted her fearful glance.
"How long have I been here?" asked the Rattlesnake in a faint tone,
while her whole frame was convulsed with terror as recent events rushed
to her mind.
"Not many hours, Meg," answered Skilligalee.
"And you will not leave me here any longer?" she said. "Oh! do not let
me die in this horrible place!"
"I am come to save you," returned Skilligalee. "Are you able to get up
and walk?"
"Yes—for the sake of freedom," cried the Rattlesnake, rising from the
mattress. "But who is that?" she added, as her eyes now fell upon
Markham for the first time.
"That's exactly what I don't know myself," said Skilligalee. "The
gentleman has, however, behaved himself as such; and that's enough for
us. Hark! there's the clock on the staircase striking five? We haven't
much time to lose: come on."
Markham led the way with the light: Skilligalee followed, supporting the
Rattlesnake, who was weak and exhausted with the effects of extreme
terror.
"Which way shall we go?" she inquired, as they paused for a moment in
the scullery, to listen if all were quiet.
"By the back gate," answered Skilligalee. "I have secured the key. The
porter keeps the keys of the front door."
"And what has become of _him_—that dreadful man who was the cause of all
this misery?" asked the Rattlesnake. "Was he killed by the blow that the
Traveller dealt him with his long dagger?"
These words struck a chord which vibrated to Markham's heart.
"Was any one wounded in this house during the night?" he demanded
hastily.
Skilligalee hesitated: he knew not who Markham was, nor what might be
the consequences of a reply consistent with the truth.
"Answer me, I conjure you," continued Richard, perceiving this
unwillingness to satisfy his curiosity. "I have every reason to believe
that a person whose name is Anthony Tidkins——"
"Oh! yes—yes," murmured the Rattlesnake, with a convulsive shudder.
"Then I have not been deceived!" cried Markham. "That individual, who is
better known as the Resurrection Man, was dangerously wounded—if not
killed—in this house a few hours since. "You," he continued, addressing
himself to Skilligalee, "are evidently acquainted with the particulars
of the occurrence: as I have assisted you to liberate this woman who
seems dear to you, reward me by telling me all you know of that event."
"First tell me who you are," said Skilligalee. "And be quick—I have no
time for conversation."
"Suffice it for you to know that I am one whom the Resurrection Man has
cruelly injured. Twice has he attempted my life: once at his den in
Bethnal Green, and again on the banks of the canal at Twig Folly——"
"Then you, sir, are Mr. Markham?" interrupted be Rattlesnake. "Oh! I
know how you have been treated by that fearful man; and there is no
necessity to conceal the truth from you! Yes—sir, it is true that the
wretch who has persecuted you was stabbed in this house; and—if I did
not believe that the wound was mortal——"
Here the Rattlesnake stopped, and leant heavily upon Skilligalee for
support—so profoundly was she terrified at the mere possibility of
Anthony Tidkins being still in existence.
Her companion perceived her emotion, and fathoming its cause, hastened
to exclaim, "But he is no more! You need dread him no longer."
"Are you sure? are you well convinced of this?" demanded Markham.
"I saw him breathe his last," was the answer.
"Where? Not in this house?" cried Richard.
"No," returned Skilligalee. "Between two and three this morning the
King, his family, and all the Zingarees, except those who stay to take
care of this establishment, took their departure; and I was compelled to
go along with them. In consequence of some communication between the
person you call the Resurrection Man and Aischa, the Queen of the
Zingarees, after he was badly wounded by the Traveller——"
"How do you call the individual who attacked him?" demanded Richard.
"The Traveller," answered the Skilligalee. "But, it appears, that he had
another name—Crankey Jem: at least, he said so after he had stabbed the
man."
"I should know that name," said Richard, musing. "Oh! I remember!
Proceed."
"Well—in consequence of something that the Resurrection Man told Aischa,
when she was attending to his wound, it was determined to take him along
with us; and four of our men carried him down to the van which was
waiting at the back gate. He groaned very much while he was being
removed."
"I heard him," said Richard, instantaneously recalling to mind the
groans which had met his ears when he was listening at his chamber door
to the bustle of the gipsies' departure.
"You heard him?" repeated Skilligalee.
"Yes—I was in the house at the time. Proceed."
"We conveyed him down to the van, where we laid him on a mattress, and
he seemed to fall asleep. Then we all divided into twos and threes, and
got safe out of London, into a field near the Pentonville Penitentiary.
But when the van, with Aischa, Eva, and Morcar,—those are some of our
people, sir,—came to the place of appointment, we found," added
Skilligalee, his voice assuming a peculiar tone, "that the Resurrection
Man was dead."
"God be thanked!" ejaculated the Rattlesnake, with a fervour which made
Markham's blood run cold.
"And now that I have told you all I know, sir," said Skilligalee, "you
will have no objection if me and my companion here go about our
business; for it is dangerous to both our interests to remain here any
longer."
Skilligalee uttered these words in his usually jocular manner; for he
was anxious to reassure his female companion, who still laboured under
an excess of terror that seemed ready to prostrate all her energies.
"Yes—let us leave this fearful den," said Markham: "to me it appears
replete with horrors of all kinds."
Skilligalee now took the candle and led the way, still supporting
Margaret Flathers on his arm.
They all three effected their egress from the palace without any
obstacle.
When they were safe in the alley with which the back gate communicated,
Markham said to Skilligalee, "From what I can understand, you have fled
from the gipsies in order to return and liberate your companion from the
dungeon where we found her."
"That is precisely what I did," answered Skilligalee. "I gave them the
slip when they had set up their tents in the field near the
Penitentiary."
"It is probable that you are not too well provided with pecuniary
resources," said Richard: "the contents of my purse are at your
service."
"Thank you kindly, sir—very kindly," returned Skilligalee. "I am not in
want of such assistance."
Markham vainly pressed his offer: it was declined with many expressions
of gratitude. The truth was that Skilligalee had the greater portion of
his share of Margaret's gold still remaining; and there was something so
generous and so noble in the manner of Richard Markham, that he could
not find it in his heart to impose upon him by taking a sum of which he
did not stand in immediate need.
"At all events, let me advise you to avoid such companions as those with
whom you appear to have been allied," observed Richard, "and who are
cruel enough to immure a female in a subterranean dungeon."
"I shall not neglect your advice, sir," returned Skilligalee; "and may
God bless you for it."
"And you," continued Richard, addressing himself to Margaret Flathers,
"second your companion in his good intentions. I know not what deed on
your part could have led to your incarceration in that cell—neither do I
seek to know;—but to you I would give similar advice—avoid those whose
ways are criminal, and whose vengeance is as terrific as it is lawless.
Farewell."
"May God bless you, sir, for your good counsel!" said Margaret Flathers,
weeping.
She had not merely repeated, with parrot-like callousness, the words
uttered by her companion: that benediction emanated with fervid
sincerity from a heart deeply penetrated by anxiety to renew a
long-forgotten acquaintance with rectitude.
"Farewell, sir," said Skilligalee.
He and the Rattlesnake then struck into one of the streets with which
the alley at the back of the gipsies' palace communicated.
Richard took another direction on his way homewards.