"I hope, Will, you'll hear nothing as'll do any of you any harm, and I
hope you wish me none, as I'm sure I don't wish any harm to you. I
mustn't tarry now, for our Betty's off; and I've much to do at home, for
to-morrow'll be a busy day for me."
A little later on, towards nine o'clock, one of the men in the plot
passed by Johnson's house, and heard his voice in conversation with some
one else. All, therefore, was in a right train for their scheme to
succeed. At ten o'clock the whole party met in a lane near Will
Jones's.
"It's all right," said the man who had heard Johnson in conversation
with another man a short time before. "Thomas'll be fast asleep afore
long. The window's all right, too; I just slipped round to the back and
looked at it."
"Well," said Jones, "now we must all on us go home. We mustn't be seen
together. We're all to meet in the field when the church clock strikes
two. Who's got the powder and the lamp-black?"
"I have," replied a voice.
"And who's got the ropes?"
"I have," whispered another.
"Well, that's all right," said Will, with a low, chuckling laugh. "I've
got the lantern and furze. I've picked out some with a rare lot of
pricks on't. I reckon he'll not look so handsome in the morning."
Quietly and stealthily they separated, and shrunk off to their own
houses.
A few hours later, and several dusky figures were slipping along with as
little noise as possible towards the dwelling of the poor victim. It
was still very boisterous, but the rain had almost ceased. Thick, heavy
clouds, black as ink, were being hurried across the sky, while the wind
was whistling keenly round the ends of the houses. There were gaslights
which flickered in the gale along the main road; but everything was in
the densest gloom at the rear of the buildings and down the side
streets. As the church clock struck two, the first stroke loud and
distinct, the next like its mournful echo--as the sound was borne away
by the fitful breeze, the conspirators crept with the utmost caution to
the back of Johnson's house. Not a sound but their own muffled
footsteps could be heard. Not a light was visible through any window.
No voice except that of the wailing wind broke the deep stillness. The
black walls of the different dwellings rose up dreary and solemn, with
spectral-looking pipes dimly projecting from them. The drip, drip of
the rain, as it fell off the smoky slates, or streamed down the walls,
giving them here and there a dusky glaze, intensified the mournful
loneliness of the whole scene.
"Crouch you down under the water-butt," whispered Ben Stone, the man who
had proposed the scheme, and who now acted as leader.
"Will, give me your shoulder--where's the lantern?"
In another moment he was close to the window, which was gently raised,
but at that instant something struck him on the back, he uttered a half-
suppressed exclamation, and nearly loosed his hold.
"It's only a cat," whispered one of the men below. "All's right."
Stone again raised himself to the window, and pushed it farther up; then
he drew himself down out of sight and listened. Not a sound came from
the chamber to show that Johnson's sleep was disturbed. Again the man
raised himself. He had previously taken off his clogs, as had also the
others. Very gradually and warily, with suppressed breath, he lowered
himself on to the floor. All was safe so far. Betty had slept here,
but her bed was now empty; indeed, to Ben Stone's surprise, the bedstead
was bare both of mattress and bedclothes. Johnson's was the inner
chamber. Ben stole softly to the door, all was dark and quiet; he could
just make out the bed, and that a figure lay upon it. He hastily caused
the light of the lantern to flash on the recumbent form for a single
moment, it seemed to him to move; he crouched down close to the floor,
and listened--again all was still. He was now convinced that Johnson
lay there in a deep sleep. Now was the time. Stepping back to the
window on tiptoe, he put out his head, and whispered,--
"All's right; come up as quietly as you can."
They were all soon in the outer chamber.
"Now," said Stone in a low voice, "you give me the furze--there, that'll
do. Will, have you got the pot with the powder and lamp-black?--that's
your sort--where's the ropes?--all right--now then."
All reached the floor of the outer room without any mishap, and then,
treading with the utmost caution, approached the bed in the inner room.
The sleeper did not stir. Ben Stone threw the light upon the prostrate
figure, which lay coiled up, and apparently quite unconscious. A rope
was now thrown loosely round, the men crawling along the floor, and just
raising themselves on one elbow as they jerked it lightly across the
bedstead; then another coil was made higher up, still the sleeper did
not stir hand or foot.
"Now, then," cried Ben, half out loud, and throwing the full blaze of
the lantern on the bed's head; in a moment the other men had drawn the
ropes tight, and Jones leant over with his pot. But before Ben had time
to plunge the furze upon the unhappy victim's face, a suppressed cry
broke from the whole group. It was no living being that lay there, but
only a bundle of old carpeting, with a dirty coverlid thrown over it.
The next instant the truth burst upon them all. Johnson was gone. They
looked at one another the very picture of stupid bewilderment. A hasty
flash of the lantern showed that there was no other bed in the chamber.
"Well, here's a go," whispered Jones; "the bird's flown, and a pretty
tale we shall have to tell."
"Stop," said Ben, in an under-voice, and motioning the others to keep
quiet, "maybe he's sleeping on the couch-chair in the house."
"I'll go and see," said Jones.
Cautiously he descended the stairs, terrified at every creak they made
under his weight. Did he hear anything? No; it was only the pattering
of the rain-drops outside. Stealthily he peeped into the kitchen; no
one was there, the few smouldering ashes in the grate being the only
token of recent occupation. So he went back to his friends in the
chamber.
"Eh, see, what's here!" cried one of the men, in an agitated voice;
"look on the floor."
They turned the light of the lantern on to the chamber-floor, and a
strange sight indeed presented itself. Right across the room, in
regular lines, were immense letters in red and black adhering to the
boards.
"Ben, you're a scholar," said Jones; "read 'em."
Stone, thus appealed to, made the light travel slowly along the words,
and read in a low and faltering voice,--
"_No drunkard shall inherit the kingdom of God_."