TOM RAIN'S LODGINGS IN LOCK'S FIELDS.
Nearly opposite to the house where Tom Rain lived, in Brandon Street,
Lock's Fields, there was a boozing-ken, well known to Old Death; and
shortly after nine o'clock on the same evening which marked the events
related in the preceding chapter, that cunning fence, accompanied by
Toby Bunce and the lad Jacob, were introduced by the landlord into a
front room on the first-floor of the said flash establishment.
Jacob was ordered to station himself at the window and watch for Tom
Rain to take his departure on the expedition devised for him by Old
Death; while Bones himself and his acolyte Toby seated themselves
opposite a cheerful fire, to discuss hot gin-and-water until the hour
should arrive for putting into execution the scheme that had brought
them thither.
Although the rain was falling with a mist-like density, and no
gas-company had been enterprising enough to lay down pipes in such a
neighbourhood as Lock's Fields,—so that there were neither stars nor
lamps to light the street,—still the eagle-eyes of Jacob could
distinguish sufficient of the scene without, to quiet any fear lest the
movements of Tom Rain should escape him. Old Death moreover stimulated
his energies by means of a sip of hot grog; and the lad remained as
motionless at the window and as earnestly intent on his object as a cat
watching near the hole into which a mouse has escaped.
"Well," said Old Death, as he sipped his liquor complacently, "I suppose
we shall have no difficulty in managing this little job by-and-by? Jacob
watched all day long in Great Ormond Street, until we joined him to come
over here; and the Jewess never stirred out once—did she, Jacob?"
"No—not once," was the answer.
"But you knew that she was at home?"
"Yes: because I saw her at the window for a moment, every now and then,"
replied the lad, speaking without averting his eyes from the street.
"Good!" exclaimed Old Death. "It is not at all likely that she has come
over to Tom's lodgings this evening, or that she will come—'specially
after the long sermon she wrote——"
Bones checked himself; for he was not in the habit of being
communicative with Toby Bunce; and Toby, on his side, never sought to
pry into the motives or designs of the old fence by whom he was made so
complete a tool.
"Who is there in the house besides Mr. Rainford and the boy?" asked
Toby, after a pause.
"Only the old widow woman that keeps it," responded Mr. Benjamin Bones.
"There!" cried Jacob, suddenly: "the door opens—and Mr. Rainford comes
out! He's gone."
"All right!" said Old Death. "I suppose he's going for his horse,
wherever he keeps it."
"I could see by the light in the passage, when the door was opened, that
he had his white coat on and his great riding-whip in his hand,"
remarked Jacob. "It was a woman that held the candle—because I could
just catch a glimpse of her shadow, and that's all."
"You don't think it was the Jewess?" asked Bones.
"I couldn't say, because the shadow wasn't plain enough," returned
Jacob. "But it's hardly probable that she could have got over here
before us, even if she was coming to Mr. Rainford's lodgings to-night."
"Well said, Jacob," observed Old Death. "You're getting a knowing
lad—you are; and now you shall have a glass of grog to yourself."
"What! a _whole_ glass?" ejaculated Toby Bunce, in astonishment at this
unwonted liberality on the part of Old Death.
"Yes—a whole glass—a sixpenny glass," responded Bones; and, having
summoned the landlord, he gave the requisite order.
The liquor was brought for Jacob's express behoof; and Old Death drew
forth the money to pay for it. But, as he did so, a paper with writing
upon it fell upon the floor, unperceived by any one save Jacob.
The lad instantly drew a chair near the fire, and as he seated himself,
placed his foot upon the paper, which, being somewhat dingy in hue, he
took to be a bank-note.
The landlord withdrew; and the conversation was resumed between Old
Death and Toby Bunce.
"I hope Betsy will have something nice for supper when we get back
again," remarked the latter.
"She's sure to do that," replied Old Death. "You ought to be very fond
of your wife, Toby—for she's very fond of you."
"D'ye think she is, Mr. Bones?" exclaimed Bunce.
"I'm sure of it. Doesn't she take great care of you?"
"Rather too much," was the reply, which came from the bottom of Toby's
heart: then, perceiving that he had uttered something which seemed to
imply that he had dared to form an opinion for himself, he hastened to
add, "Not but what it's very kind of her to keep the money—and my watch
too—and every thing else in her own care, because I know I'm an old
fool——"
"No—you're not a fool, Toby," interrupted Bones; "but you want looking
after. Ah! it was a blessed day for you when I recommended you to marry
that virtuous—well-conducted—pattern-woman, as one may say, who is now
your wife. I had no interest but your good—and hers——"
"I'm well aware of that, Mr. Bones," cried Toby: "and you've been an
excellent friend to us. I'm sure Betsy respects you as if you was her——"
Toby was about to say "father," but he remembered that Old Death did not
like to be reminded of his age, and so he substituted "brother."
"Well—well," said Bones: "I've no doubt of what you tell me; and so long
as you're happy together, that's every thing."
Toby smothered a sigh with a deep draught of gin-and-water;—Old Death
poked the fire; and Jacob availed himself of the opportunity to stoop
down and pick up the paper, which he dexterously conveyed to his pocket,
unperceived by either of his companions. But a sudden disappointment
seized upon him—for he could feel that it was too stiff for a bank-note,
and was moreover folded like a letter.
The time passed away; and at length Old Death, after consulting his
watch, declared it to be close upon eleven o'clock.
There were no lights visible in the house opposite; and it was therefore
determined to commence operations without farther delay.
"Before we leave here," said Old Death, "remember what you are to do.
Jacob and you, Toby, will put on your masks, rush in, shut the door, and
make the old widow secure. Then you, Jacob, will come out and fetch me.
It won't do for the woman to see me at all, because I'm so tall that if
she described me to Tom Rain when he comes back, he would know who it
was directly; but as there's nothing particular about either of you, he
can't make you out from description."
"We'll take care, Mr. Bunce, how the thing is managed," said Toby.
The trio then quitted the public-house; and, while Toby and Jacob
crossed to the other side of the street, Old Death walked a little way
on.
The coast was quite clear, and a profound silence reigned throughout the
neighbourhood.
Toby Bunce and the lad stopped at the door of the widow's house, slipped
on their black masks, and knocked. In a few moments the door was opened
by the widow herself. Quick as lightning, the candle was knocked from
her hand, and the scream that half-burst from her lips was arrested by a
large plaster which Toby instantaneously clapped upon her mouth. The
poor woman fainted through excess of terror, and was borne into the
nearest room, where Jacob hastened to strike a light.
Having succeeded thus far, Toby remained in charge of the landlady,
while Jacob hastened to fetch Old Death.
In a few moments the lad returned with that individual; and the
front-door was again carefully closed.
The widow continued in a swoon; and Toby did not give himself any
trouble to recover her.
"Do you remain here," said Old Death, addressing himself to his myrmidon
Bunce; "and if the woman revives and attempts to struggle or any
nonsense of that kind, give her a knock on the head just to quiet
her—but no more."
"All right," returned Toby, rejoiced to find that he had only a female
to deal with.
Old Death then took the light, and, followed by Jacob, cautiously
ascended the stairs.
They entered the front-room on the first-floor. It was a parlour, very
neatly furnished: but no one was there.
"The boy must be in the back chamber," murmured Old Death; and thither
they proceeded.
Having opened the door as noiselessly as possible, they advanced slowly
into the room; but scarcely had the candle shed its light upon the bed,
when they beheld the boy—the object of their enterprise—cradled on the
bare and beautifully modelled arm of a female also wrapped in slumber,
and whose coal-black hair spread itself over the white pillow, and
partially concealed her glowing bust.
"The Jewess!" whispered Jacob, in a rapid, concentrated tone.
Old Death instantly shaded the light with his hand, and retreated from
the room, followed by the lad.
But at that moment a loud knock at the front-door was heard; and
simultaneously a piercing shriek burst from the apartment below, where
Toby Bunce had been left in charge of the landlady.
Old Death muttered a terrible curse, extinguished the light, and
hastened down stairs as noiselessly as possible—Jacob following with
equal caution.
"The back way," murmured Old Death: "but first go and help Toby, who is
in some trouble or another with the landlady."
Jacob darted into the front-room; and as it was quite dark, he stumbled
over a chair.
The struggle between Toby and the landlady, who had succeeded in getting
off the plaster, was now renewed; and, releasing her throat from the
suffocating grasp which her assailant had upon it, she screamed for help
a second time.
The knocking at the front-door was redoubled; and in a few moments a
light gleamed from the head of the stairs.
"Perdition!" murmured old Death: "it is the Jewess!"
Then, rushing into the front room, he exclaimed, "Come off this moment!"
and he was about to beat a retreat by the back way, when the house-door
was forced in with a vigorous push.
"What the devil is doing here?" cried the well-known voice of Tom Rain,
as he banged the door behind him and drew the bolt. "Who was screaming?
What——"
"Oh! Tom—is that you?" exclaimed a melodious, though excited voice on
the stairs; "there are thieves—murderers in the house!"
And the half-naked lady, with her coal-black hair floating around her
shoulders and over her bosom, suddenly appeared at the turning of the
narrow staircase, holding a candle.
The light illumed the small passage below, and showed Tom Rain, standing
with his back against the front-door, and with a pistol in each hand.
A third scream burst from the parlour.
Rainford rushed in; and, encountering Toby and Jacob, dragged them—or
rather hurled them, as if they were two children in his grasp, into the
passage.
There the light revealed to him their countenances—for their masks had
been torn away in the struggle with the landlady; and Rainford was for a
few moments so astounded at the recognition of Old Death's agents or
confederates, that he was unable to utter a word.
"The villains!—the murderers!—the assassins!" cried the landlady,
rushing forward, with her hair all in disorder, her garments torn to
rags, and the blood streaming from her nose. "Shall I go and fetch a
constable, Mr. Rainford?"
"No, I thank'ee," returned Tom: "leave me to manage these scoundrels.
Here, my love," he continued, addressing himself to the Jewess, who had
remained half-way up the stairs, "give me that light, and do you retire
to your room. I must speak to these rascals in private. My good woman,"
he added, turning once more to the landlady, "have the kindness to go up
stairs and keep my wife company; and fear nothing—now that I am here."
The two women hastened to obey these injunctions; and Rainford, provided
with the candle, made an imperative sign for Toby Bunce and Jacob to
precede him into the room from which he had dragged them a few minutes
previously.
"Answer me directly," said Tom, in a stern—resolute manner, as he closed
the door behind him, and deliberately drew forth the pistols which he
had thrust into the pockets of his white great-coat when he first
entered the parlour to rescue the landlady,—"answer me directly—either
one of you, I care not which:—what brought you here?"
"Jacob knows best, Mr. Rainford," replied Bunce, eyeing the pistols
askance.
"No—I don't," said the lad, in a sulky tone.
"You are game to your employer, I have no doubt, Jacob," ejaculated
Rainford. "And now, Toby Bunce, answer for yourself—or, by God! I'll
shoot you through the head! In short, what brought you here?"
At this moment there was a low knock at the room-door, against which Tom
Rain was leaning.
"Who's there?" demanded the highwayman.
"Me," replied the sepulchral, hollow voice of Old Death.
"Ah! the plot thickens," said Tom; and, opening the door, he gave
admittance to Mr. Benjamin Bones.
"It's all a mistake, Tom—it's the wrong house!" exclaimed Old Death.
"You don't know how annoyed I am—you don't indeed!"
"Well—I confess I do not," said the highwayman coolly; "and it will take
you a long time to persuade me that you are speaking the truth. If it
was the wrong house, why didn't these people of yours tell me so when I
first questioned them?"
"Because I saw you would not believe me," cried Jacob hastily.
"And I was so flurried by them barkers," added Toby, pointing to the
pistols.
"I'm not such a fool as you take me to be," observed Tom Rain. "Without
being able to fathom your intentions, I can smell treachery as easy as I
could gunpowder. How did you find out that I lived here? You must have
had me dogged and watched, Old Death. And perhaps the very job you sent
me after to-night, was a mere subterfuge to get me out of the way?
Fortunately I did not wait for the yellow chaise, because I picked up
something better the moment I reached Blackheath; and I thought I had
done quite enough for one evening's work—so I returned without delay.
Lucky it was that I did so. But am I to have an explanation of this
affair?—or do you mean us to break with each other for good and all?"
"What can I say—what can I do to prove to you that this is all a
mistake?" cried Old Death, sadly perplexed between the fear of complete
detection and the dread of losing the valuable services of the
highwayman.
"I will tell you," answered Tom, after a few moments' consideration.
"Let these two followers of yours go their ways—and you and me will have
a little discourse in private."
A sudden misgiving—a horrible suspicion flashed to the mind of Old
Death. Could Rainford mean to murder him?
"Why do you hesitate?" demanded the highwayman, penetrating his
thoughts. "Do you suppose for an instant that I intend you any harm?
Why, you miserable old wretch," he added, with a proud contempt which
rendered him strikingly handsome for the moment, "I would sooner blow
out my own brains than defile my hands by laying them violently on such
a piece of withered carrion as you are—unless you give me ample cause."
Old Death's lips quivered with rage; but, subduing his emotions as well
as he was able, he made a sign for Toby Bunce and Jacob to depart.
This hint was obeyed; and in a few moments Bones was alone in the room
with the highwayman.
"What is it you require of me?" asked the old man, in a tremulous
voice—for there was something in Rainford's tone and gesture which
alarmed him.
"I will explain myself to you," said Tom. "When we first knew each
other, you boasted that all your transactions were conducted with so
much caution, that none with whom you had dealings even knew where you
lived. Was it not so?"
"Very likely—very likely," returned Old Death. "But what of that?"
"Simply that as it suited you to keep your place of abode secret
from me, so did I wish that my residence should remain unknown to
you," answered Rainford, "Now, mark me, Mr. Bones—or whatever the
devil your name may be:—you shall have no advantage over me.
Hitherto our compact has been fairly kept; but at length I find you
practising falsely towards me. You need not interrupt me with vows
and protestations—because I shall not believe you. But I tell you
what you will do—and this night, too."
"What?" groaned Old Death.
"You will place us on even ground—you will give me the same advantage
that you have gained over me: in a word, you will take me straight to
the place where you live, and you will show me your stores where you
keep all the property you receive or purchase from those who are in
league with you."
"I—I have no stores," said Old Death; "and, as for my lodging—I—I have
no settled place. I sleep sometimes in one crib—sometimes in another——"
"All lies!" ejaculated Tom, in a determined tone. "You have enormous
dealings with all the housebreakers and thieves in London; you have said
as much to me—and you have boasted that they are ignorant of your
residence. Now then, you _have_ a residence—and I swear that before I am
six hours older, I will know so much about _you_, that you shall never
dare to practise any treachery towards _me_."
"What treachery could I practise against you, Tom?" asked Old Death in a
conciliatory tone.
"I will tell you," replied Rainford. "You boast that for thirty years
you have monopolised the business of fence to all the people worth
dealing with in London; and, during that time, you have never got into a
scrape. But how could you have enjoyed so wonderful a safety—so
uninterrupted a security, unless you now and then sacrificed—yes,
_sacrificed_—an accomplice or two?"
"I!" ejaculated Old Death, starting in spite of himself.
"Yes—_you_," rejoined Rainford, fixing his eyes sternly and searchingly
on the ancient villain's hideous countenance. "Do you think that I am
unacquainted with your real character? do you suppose that I was at a
loss to understand you, even the very first moment we ever met? That
flippancy of manner—that off-handedness—that reckless indifference,
which characterise me, are a species of mask from behind which I can
penetrate into the deepest recesses of the hearts of others. I know you
as well as you know yourself—or nearly so. At all events, I know enough
to render me cautious and wary; and, by the living God! you shall never
have an opportunity of selling me to save yourself!"
"Tom—my dear Tom!" exclaimed Old Death, now actually frightened by the
other's manner, and astonished at his words; "you cannot think of such a
thing seriously!"
"So seriously do I think of it," replied Rainford, "that I will drag you
into the pit, if I am destined to fall. So now, without another word,
prepare to reveal to me all the mysteries in which you have for thirty
years enveloped yourself."
"And if I refuse?" said Old Death, doggedly.
Rainford deliberately cocked his pistol.
"You have inveigled me into a snare—you have sent away those who might
protect me—and now you seek an excuse to murder me!" exclaimed Old
Death, his voice sounding like ringing metal.
"Did I not say ere now that I would not harm you, unless you gave me
just cause?" demanded Rainford. "And think you that your refusal to
comply with my present wish does not constitute such just cause? You
have discovered my lodging, which it does not suit me to leave on that
account:—you may also have found out that I am not _alone_ here——"
"I know that a certain Jewess is your mistress," said Old Death, with a
savage leer—for all the vindictive passions of his nature were aroused
by the conduct of the individual who dared to coerce him—_him_, who had
never been coerced before!
"A certain Jewess!" repeated Rainford, surveying Old Death with a
singular expression of countenance.
"Yes—Esther de Medina," added Bones.
"Esther de Medina is as pure and innocent as the babe that is unborn!"
cried the highwayman, with impassioned emphasis.
"Then she must be your wife," said Old Death.
"Liar!" thundered Tom Rain, rushing forward and seizing the ancient
villain by the throat: then, as if ashamed of the sudden transport of
rage into which he had suffered himself to be betrayed, he withdrew his
hand, and said in a more quiet but still determined manner, "Mention not
the name of Esther de Medina with disrespect—or I warn you that my
vengeance—yes, _my_ vengeance—will be terrible! And now prepare to lead
me to your place of abode—for I am wearied of this long parley."
He again drew forth one of his pistols, which he had consigned to his
pocket when he rushed on the old man in the way just described.
"You'll repent this, Mr. Rainford," said Old Death, endeavouring to
impress the highwayman with vague and undefined alarms.
[Illustration]
"You see how evil your nature is, since you can threaten me thus," cried
Tom. "But I care little for your menaces. I have but two alternatives to
choose between:—one is to blow your brains out at once—the other is to
get you as much into my power as you have got me into yours. Either way
will answer my purpose. So now make up your mind which it shall be. The
people in Lock's Fields wouldn't take much notice if they heard a pistol
fired; and there's a pretty deep ditch at the bottom of the yard behind
the house."
Old Death shuddered; for there was something awfully determined in the
highwayman's manner.
"Well—and if I take you to a certain place," he said, "how do I know
that you will not split upon me?"
"Trust to me as I shall _then_ trust to you," ejaculated Rainford.
"Shall we not continue to be necessary to each other? And on my part, I
shall at least experience more confidence, since I shall know that you
cannot ruin me without bringing destruction on yourself!"
"Be it as you say," growled Old Death; and, fixing his greasy cap upon
his head, he prepared to depart.
"One moment—while I say a word up stairs," said Rainford; and, hastily
quitting the room, he locked the door behind him.
Scarcely a minute elapsed ere he returned—to the great relief of the old
man, who had begun to entertain serious misgivings at being made a
prisoner.
"There are marks of dirty boots upon the carpet in the bed-room above,"
said Tom, confronting Bones, and fixing upon him a searching look. "What
were you doing there?"
"I was not there——" began Old Death, quailing beneath that glance.
"Damnable liar!" cried Rainford. "I have half a mind——But, no," he
added, checking himself: "time will show what your purpose was in
invading this house; and I shall know how to punish any treachery on
your part. And now mark me! You will lead the way—and I shall follow
you. Avoid great thoroughfares——"
"Had we not better take a coach?" asked Old Death.
"No—we will walk, be it to the other end of London," replied the
highwayman resolutely. "I shall follow close behind you:—beware how you
attempt to address yourself to a soul whom you may meet—beware also how
you trifle with me. But stay—I will have a guarantee for your good
faith. Give me your pocket-book!"
"My pocket-book!" ejaculated Old Death, with something approaching a
shudder.
"Yes—your pocket-book," replied Rain. "I know that it contains
Bank-notes, and memoranda of value or utility to you; and I will retain
it in this house, until we return from the expedition on which we are
about to set forth. Come—quick! I have no time for idle delays!"
"My pocket-book!" repeated Old Death, with increasing dismay.
"Do I not speak plain enough?" demanded the highwayman. "If I cannot
make myself intelligible by words, I may by deeds: so permit me to help
myself to the article I require. It will not be the first time I shall
have rifled a pocket," he added, with a merry laugh.
"Do you know that you are treating me in a manner that I never
experienced before?" said Old Death, his hideous countenance convulsed
with rage.
"I can very well believe what you state," returned Tom Rain coolly.
"Hitherto you have had to deal with men whom you got completely into
your power—whose lives hung on a thread which you could snap without
endangering yourself—who were mere puppets in your hands, and did not
dare say their names were their own. Oh! I am well aware how you have
played the tyrant—the griping, avaricious, grinding miser—the cruel,
relentless despot! But now,—_now_, Mr. Bones, you have another sort of
person to deal with,—a man who will be even with you anywhere and
everywhere,—and who will never let you gain an advantage over him
without acquiring one in return."
"Who are you," demanded Old Death, in strange bewilderment, "that talk
to me thus?"
"Why—Thomas Rainford, to be sure!" cried the highwayman, laughing—yet
with a certain chuckling irony that sounded ominously on the old fence's
ears. "And I need not tell you," he continued after a few moments'
pause, "that I am rather a desperate character, who would as soon shoot
you in the open street—aye, or in the midst of a crowd, too—if you
attempted any treachery towards me, as I would ease a gentleman of his
purse upon the lonely road. But we are wasting time: give me your
pocket-book."
Old Death's courage had gradually oozed away during this strange
colloquy; and he now mechanically obeyed the command so imperiously
addressed to him.
But suddenly recollecting himself, as he was about to hand the
pocket-book to the highwayman, he said, "There is one letter here—just
one letter—which I should like to keep about my own person."
"Well—take that one letter," returned Tom; "and beware how you endeavour
to secrete any thing else."
Old Death's hand trembled as he unfastened the clasp of the greasy old
pocket-book; and, when he had opened it, he sighed deeply, as his eyes
alighted first on a roll of Bank-notes. Then he turned the papers
over—one after another; and clouds gathered thickly and more thickly
upon his countenance.
"This is strange—very strange!" he muttered, as he fumbled about with
the letters and memoranda.
"What is strange?" demanded Rainford.
"That I cannot find the letter I want," returned Old Death, with
increasing agitation. "Surely I cannot have lost it? And yet—I remember
now—I was referring to it this afternoon—and——Oh! yes—I recollect—I put
it into my pocket——"
But the search in his pockets was vain: the letter was nowhere to be
found.
"Come—there's enough of delay and such-like nonsense," exclaimed the
highwayman, snatching the pocket-book from his hand.
Again Rainford quitted the room, locking the door behind him; and in a
couple of minutes he returned, saying, "Your pocket-book is safe where
no one will meddle with it till we come back. It is now past eleven: let
us set off. Come—you go first!"
Old Death led the way, and Tom Rain followed, the latter conveying some
pleasant intimation, as he closed the front-door behind him, about an
ounce of lead in the other's back if he showed the slightest sign of
treachery.