THE PRISONER IN THE SUBTERRANEAN.
It was on the same morning when Adeline came to London in the manner
just described, that Anthony Tidkins emerged from his dwelling, hastened
up the dark alley, and entered the ground-floor of the building.
He was not, however, alone:—Mr. Banks, who had been breakfasting with
him, followed close behind.
"Light the darkey, old fellow," said the Resurrection Man, when they
were both in the back room; "while I raise the trap. We must bring
matters to an end somehow or another this morning."
"I hope so," returned Banks. "It isn't wery probable that the poor old
weasel will have pluck enow to hold out much longer. Why—it must be near
upon ten days that she's been here."
"I dare say it is," observed the Resurrection Man, coolly: "but she'll
never stir out till she gives us the information we want. It would be
worth a pretty penny to us. The young girl was evidently dying to know
about her parents, that night she met the old woman; and she can get
money from her friends—she said so."
"Well," returned Banks, "let us hope that the old woman has thought
better on it by this time and will make a clean buzzim of it. It would
be a great pity and a wery useless crime if we was obleeged to knock the
sinful old weasel on the head arter all: her corpse would fetch nothing
at the surgeon's."
"Don't be afraid," said Tidkins: "it won't come to that. She was half
inclined to tell every thing last night when I visited her as usual. But
come along, and let's see how she is disposed this morning."
The Resurrection Man descended the stone staircase, followed by Banks,
who carried the light.
In a few moments they entered the vault where their prisoner was
confined.
And that prisoner was the vile hag of Golden Lane!
A lamp burned feebly upon the table in the subterranean; and the old
woman was already up and dressed when the two men made their appearance.
She was sitting in a chair, dolefully rocking herself to and fro, and
uttering low moans as she pondered upon her condition and the terms on
which she might obtain her release.
When the Resurrection Man and Banks entered the subterranean, she turned
a hasty glance towards them, and then continued to rock and moan as
before.
The two men seated themselves on the side of the bed.
"Well," said the Resurrection Man, "have you made up your mind, old
woman? Because me and my friend Banks are pretty tired of this delay;
and if the solitary system won't do—why, we must try what good can be
effected by starvation."
"Alack! I have always thought myself bad enough," said the old hag; "but
you are a very devil."
"Ah! and you shall find this place _hell_ too, if you go on humbugging
me much longer," returned the Resurrection Man, savagely. "You have only
got yourself to thank for all this trouble that you're in. If you had
behaved in a straightforward manner, all would have gone on right
enough. My friend Banks here can tell you the same. But you tried to get
the upper hand of me throughout the business."
"No—no," murmured the hag, still rocking herself.
"But I say yes—yes," answered the Resurrection Man. "In the first place
you would tell me nothing about Catherine Wilmot's parentage: you kept
it all close to yourself. I suspected you—I even told you so. I declared
that '_if I caught you out in any of your tricks, I would hang you up to
your own bedpost, as readily as I would wring the neck of your old
cat_.' And I will keep my word yet, if you refuse to give me the
information I require."
"What will become of me? what will become of me!" moaned the old hag.
"Alack! alack!"
"You'll very soon find out," answered Tidkins. "But I just want to prove
to you that I am right in all I am doing with regard to you. In the
first place you would speak to Katherine alone: that didn't look well.
You said I might be a witness at a distance—or when the money was paid;
but I knew that to be all humbug. However, I let you have your way at
the beginning—if it was only to see how the young girl would receive
you. Well, friend Banks drives us to Hounslow: we set off to the farm—we
meet Katherine and another young lady—and this Miss Monroe throws cold
water on the whole business. Still you won't speak before witnesses. We
go back to the inn at Hounslow: we concoct the note to Kate; and friend
Banks undertakes to deliver it, as it seemed he knew something of her.
He managed to give it to her; and you, old woman, go off to meet her at
seven. Now did you think I was so precious green as not to take
advantage of the opportunity? Not I! I went after you—I crept round
behind the fences near where you and Katherine met each other—and I
heard every word that passed between you."
"Alack! alack!" moaned the old woman.
"Yes—I heard every thing," continued the Resurrection Man;—"enough to
prove to me that the young girl would give half her fortune to learn the
truth concerning her father and mother. I also understood pretty well
that there is the name of _Markham_ in the case; and I was struck by the
manner in which you urged her to purchase your secret, when she informed
you that Richard Markham—the Markham whom I know and hate—had been made
a great lord. All you said in respect to the conditions on which your
secret was to be sold didn't astonish me at all. It only confirmed me in
the conviction that you had intended throughout to gammon me. You meant
to make use of me as a tool to find out Katherine's address, and then to
reserve for your own particular plucking the pigeon whose hiding-place I
had detected. '_The man who was with me this morning, is a bad one_,'
said you: '_he is avaricious, and desires to turn my knowledge of this
secret to a good account_.'—And so I did, you old harridan; and so I
mean to do now.—'_He is a desperate man, and I dare not offend him_,'
you went on to say.—Egad! you've found out that you spoke pretty
truly.—'_He wants money; and money he must have._'—True again: and money
I will have too. The girl tells you she is rich and anxious to purchase
the secret; and when she asks you how much will satisfy me, you coolly
tell her, '_A hundred pounds!_'—A hundred devils! And then, in your
gammoning, snivelling way, you demand of her the '_wherewith to make
your few remaining days happy_!'"
"Alas! I am a poor old soul—a poor old soul!" murmured the horrible
crone, shaking her head. "Do with me what you will—kill me at once!"
"And what the devil good would your carcass be to us?" exclaimed the
Resurrection Man.
"A workus coffin would be thrown away on it," added Mr. Banks.
"So it would, Ned," returned Tidkins. "But I'll just finish what I have
to say to the old woman; and we'll then go to the point. I was so
disgusted, and in such an infernal rage, when I heard you going on in
such a rascally manner,—selling me, and taking care of yourself,—that I
determined at one time to come down from behind the palings, and force
you to tell Katherine Wilmot on the spot all you knew about her parents,
and then trust to her generosity. And as the night had turned dark, I
had moved away from the spot, and was coming towards you along the path,
when you heard the rustling of my cloak. At that instant another idea
struck me: I resolved to bring you _here_, and get the secret out of
you. I therefore crept softly back behind the fence. Then you went on
with a deal more nonsense—all of which I heard as well as the rest. I
was now determined to punish you: so I got back to the inn before
you—arranged it all with Banks—and we had you up to London, and safely
lodged here in this pleasant little place, that very night. Now, tell me
the truth, old woman—don't you deserve it all?"
"Lack-a-day!" crooned the harridan.
"She does indeed deserve it, Tony," said Banks, shaking his head with
that solemnity which he had affected so long as at length to use it
mechanically: "she's as gammoning an old wessel as ever stood a chance
of making a ugly carkiss to be burnt in the bone-house by my friend
Jones the grave-digger."
"Now, by Satan!" suddenly ejaculated the Resurrection Man, starting up,
and laying his iron hand on the hag's shoulder so as to prevent her from
rocking to and fro any longer; "if you don't give up this infernal
croaking and moaning, I'll invent some damnable torture to make you
tractable. Speak, old wretch!" he shouted in her ears, as he shook her
violently: "will you tell us the secret about Katherine Wilmot—or will
you not?"
"Not now—not now!" cried the hag: "another time!"
"I will not wait another hour!" ejaculated the Resurrection Man; "but,
by God! I'll put you to some torture. What shall we do to her, Banks?"
"Screw her cussed carkiss down in one of my coffins for an hour or so,"
answered the undertaker.
"No—that won't do," said the Resurrection Man.
"I always punishes my children in that way," observed Banks; "and I find
it a wery sallitary example."
"I know what we'll do," exclaimed Tidkins: "they say that Dick Turpin
used to put old women on the fire to make them tell where their money
was. Suppose we serve this wretched hag out in the same way?"
"I'm quite agreeable," returned Banks, with as much complacency as if a
party of pleasure had been proposed to him. "I b'lieve you've got a
brazier."
"Yes—up in the front room, ground-floor, where all the
resurrection-tools are kept," answered Tidkins. "You go and fetch
it—bring plenty of coal and wood, and the bellows—and we'll precious
soon make the old woman speak out."
The undertaker departed to execute this commission; and Tidkins again
reasoned with the hag.
But all he could get out of her was a moaning exclamation; and as soon
as he withdrew his hand from her shoulder, she began rocking backwards
and forwards as before.
It suddenly struck the Resurrection Man that she was actually losing her
senses through the rigours of confinement; and he became alarmed—not on
her account, but for the secret which he wished to extort from her.
As this idea flashed to his mind, he cast a rapid glance towards the old
woman; and surprised her as she herself was scrutinising his countenance
with the most intense interest, while she was all the time pretending to
be listlessly rocking her self.
"Another gag—by hell!" ejaculated Tidkins "What _do_ you take me for?
You think that I am such a miserable fool as to be deluded by your
tricks? Not I, indeed! Ah! you would affect madness—idiotcy—would you?
Why, if you really went mad through captivity in this place, I would
knock you on the head at once—for fear that if you were let loose you
might preach in your ravings about my designs concerning Kate Wilmot.
But if you tell me, in your sober senses, all I want to know, I'll give
you your freedom in twelve hours; because I am very well aware that you
would not, when in possession of your reason, attract attention to your
own ways of life by betraying mine."
"And if I tell you all I know," said the hag, seeing that her new design
was detected and that it was useless to persist in it,—"if I tell you
all I know, why will you not allow me to go home at once?"
"Because you came here in the night—and you shall go away in the night:
because you arrived blindfolded—and you shall depart blindfolded,"
replied the Resurrection Man, sternly. "Do you think that I would let an
old treacherous hag like you discover the whereabouts of this house?
Why—you have no more idea at present whether you're in Saint Giles's or
the Mint—Clerkenwell or Shoreditch—Bond Street or Rosemary Lane;—and I
don't intend you ever to be any wiser. But here comes Banks, with the
brazier."
The undertaker made his appearance, laden with the articles for which he
had been sent.
The Resurrection Man laid the wood and coals in the brazier, and applied
a match. In a few moments there was a bright blaze, which he fanned by
means of the bellows.
"It'll be a good fire in a minute or two," said Tidkins, coolly.
"Almost as good as Jones makes in the bone-house where he burns the
blessed carkisses of wenerable defuncts," returned Mr. Banks.
"Don't blow any more, Mr. Tidkins—save yourself the trouble," said the
hag, now really alarmed. "I will make terms with you."
"Terms, indeed!" growled the Resurrection Man. "Well—what have you to
say?"
"If I tell you every thing, you can get what money you choose out of
Katherine," continued the old woman; "and I shall not receive a penny."
"Serve you right for having tried to gammon me."
"That will be very hard—very hard indeed," added the hag. "And after
all, when you go to Katherine Wilmot and reveal to her the secrets I
communicate to you, she will ask you for proofs—_proofs_," repeated the
old woman, with a cunning leer; "and you will have no proofs to give
her."
"Then you shall write out the whole history, and sign it," said Tidkins;
"and my friend Banks will witness it."
"Yes," observed the undertaker, smoothing his limp cravat-ends: "Edward
Banks, of Globe Lane, Globe Town—Furnisher of Funerals on New and
Economic Principles—Good Deal Coffin, Eight Shillings and——"
"Hold your nonsense, Ned," cried Tidkins: then addressing himself again
to the old woman, he said, "Well—don't you think that scheme would
answer the purpose?"
"Very likely—very likely," exclaimed the hag. "But proofs—_written
proofs_—would not be bad companions to the statement that you wish me to
draw up."
"And have you such written proofs?" demanded Tidkins, eagerly.
"I have—I have," was the reply.
"Where are they?"
"Where you cannot discover them—concealed at my own abode. No one could
find them, even if they pulled the house down, except myself."
And again the hag leered cunningly.
"This only makes the matter more important," mused the Resurrection Man,
now hesitating between his avarice and his desire to possess such
important testimony. "Well," he continued, after a pause,—"to use your
own words, we _will_ make terms. I tell you what I'll do:—write out your
history of the whole business in full—in full, mind; and I will give you
ten guineas down. At night me and Banks will take you home—to your own
place; where you shall give me up the written proofs you talk of—and I
will give you another ten guineas. Now is that a bargain?"
"Alack! it must be—it must be!" said the hag. "But why not let me go
home to write out the history?"
"I am not quite such a fool," returned Tidkins. "And mind you do not
attempt to deceive me with any inventions for I shall deuced soon be
able to tell whether your history tallies with all I overheard you and
Katherine say together on the subject. Besides, the written proofs must
be forthcoming—and they, too, must fully corroborate all you state. Fail
in any one of these conditions—and, by Satan! I'll cut your throat from
ear to ear. Do you agree?"
"I do," answered the hag. "Give me paper and pens."
Tidkins departed to fetch writing materials, food, some strong liquor,
and oil for the old woman's lamp.
In five minutes he returned; and, placing those articles upon the table,
said, "When will your task be completed?"
"It will take me some hours," returned the hag: "for I have much to
think of—much to write!"
And she heaved a deep sigh.
"This evening I will visit you again," said the Resurrection Man.
He and Banks then fastened the huge door upon the old woman, and left
the subterranean.
When they reached the street, the undertaker departed in the direction
of his own house; and the Resurrection Man ascended to his apartment on
the first floor.