The Mysteries of London (Vol. 1-4). George W. M. Reynolds
affecting a tone of indifference. "You have been out every night lately—and only for a short time—"
"Now I tell you what it is, Meg," exclaimed Tidkins, striking his fist upon the table, "you have asked me about my money a great many times lately; and I tell you very candidly, I don't like it. It looks suspicious; but, by heavens! if you attempt to play me false—"
"Why should you say that, Tony? Have I not given you every proof of fidelity?"
"Yes—you have; or else I should have known what to do in a very few moments. But why do you bother yourself about the money that I have got? It is very little, I can tell you; but where it is, it's safe enough; and if I ever catch you attempting to follow me or spy upon me when I go into the rooms down stairs, I'll make you repent it."
"Now, Tony dear, don't put yourself into a passion," said the Rattlesnake, turning pale, and assuming her usual wheedling tone: "I didn't mean to annoy you. All that I wanted to know was whether there was a chance of running short or not."
"Don't frighten yourself, Meg," returned the Resurrection Man. "Whenever I run low, I know how to get more. And now, that we mayn't have to talk upon this subject again, recollect once for all that I won't have you prying into any thing that I choose to keep to myself. You know that I am not a man to be trifled with; and if any one was to betray me—I don't mean to say that you ever had such an idea—I only mean you to understand that if anybody did—"
"Well—what?" said the Rattlesnake in a tone of alarm.
"I would not be taken alive," added the Resurrection Man; "and those who came to take me at all, would probably travel the same road that the police, the Cracksman, and the Mummy have gone already."
"Tony," exclaimed the woman, a deadly pallor overspreading her countenance, "you don't mean to say that this house is provided with a pipe like the one—"
"I don't mean to say any thing at all about it, one way or another," interrupted the Resurrection Man coolly. "All I want you to do is to remain quiet—attend to my wishes—keep a close tongue in your head—and have no eyes for any thing that I don't tell you to look at—and then we shall go on as pleasant as before. Otherwise—"
At this moment a knock at the street door was heard.
The Rattlesnake hastened to answer the summons, and returned accompanied by the Buffer and his wife.
CHAPTER XCVIII.
DARK PLOTS AND SCHEMES.
THE Buffer was one of the most unmitigated villains that ever disgraced the name of man. There was no species of crime with which he was not familiar; and he had a suitable helpmate in his wife, who was the sister of Dick Flairer—a character that disappeared from the stage of life in the early part of this history.
In person, the Buffer was slight, short, and rather well-made—extremely active, and endowed with great physical power. His countenance was by no means an index to his mind; for it was inexpressive, stolid, and vacant.
His wife was a woman of about five-and-twenty, being probably ten years younger than her husband. She was not precisely ugly; but her countenance—the very reverse of that of the Buffer—was so indicative of every evil passion that can possibly disgrace womanhood, as to be almost repulsive.
The two new-comers seated themselves near the fire, for their clothes were dripping with the rain, which continued to pour in torrents. The warmth of the apartment and a couple of glasses of smoking grog soon, however, put them into good humour and made them comfortable; and the Resurrection Man then proposed that they should "proceed to business."
"In the first place, Jack," said the Resurrection Man, addressing himself to the Buffer, "what news about Markham?"
"He will attend to the appointment," was the answer.
"He will?" exclaimed the Resurrection Man, as if the news were almost too good to be true: "you are sure?"
"As sure as I am that I've got this here glass in my mawley," said the Buffer.
"To-morrow night?"
"To-morrow night he'll meet his brother at Twig Folly," answered the Buffer, with a laugh.
"Tell me all that took place," cried the Resurrection Man; "and then I shall be able to judge for myself."
"As you told me," began the Buffer, "I made myself particklerly clean and tidy, and went up to Holloway this morning at about eleven o'clock. I knocked at the door of the swell's crib; and an old butler-like looking feller, with a port-wine face, and a white napkin under his arm, come and opened it. He asked me what my business was. I said I wanted to speak to Mr. Markham in private. He asked me to walk in; and he showed me into a library kind of a place, where I see a good-looking young feller sitting reading. He was very pale, and seemed as if he'd been ill."
"Fretting about that business at the theatre, no doubt," observed the Resurrection Man.
"What business?" cried the Buffer.
"No matter—go on."
"Well—so I went into this library and see Mr. Markham. The old servant left us alone together. 'What do you want with me, my good man?' says Markham in a very pleasant tone of voice.—'I have summut exceeding partickler to say to you, sir,' says I.—'Well, what is it?' he asks—'Have you heerd from your brother lately, sir?' says I, throwing out the feeler you put me up to. If so be he had said he had, and I saw that he really knew where he was, and every thing about him, I should have invented some excuse, and walked myself off; but there was no need of that; for the moment I mentioned his brother, he was quite astonished.—'My brother!' he says in a wery excited tone: 'many years has elapsed since I heerd from him. Do you know what has becomed on him?'—'Perhaps I knows a trifle about him, sir,' says I; 'and that is wery trifling indeed. In a word,' I says, 'he wants to see you.'—'He wants to see me!' cries my gentleman: 'then why doesn't he come to me? But where is he? tell me, that I may fly to him.'—So then I says, 'The fact of the matter is this, sir; your brother has got his-self into a bit of a scrape, and don't dare show. He's living down quite in the east of London, close by the Regent's Canal; and he has sent me to say that if so be you'll meet him to-morrow night at ten o'clock in Twig Folly, he'll be there.'—Then Mr. Markham cries out, 'But why can I not go to him now? If he is in distress or difficulty, the sooner he sees me the better.'—'Softly, sir,' says I. 'All I know of the matter is this, that I'm a honest man as airns his livelihood by running on messages and doing odd jobs. A gentleman meets me on the bank of the canal, close by Twig Folly, very early this morning and says, 'Do you want to airn five shillings?' Of course I says 'Yes.'—'Then,' says the gentleman, 'go up to Markham Place without delay, and ask to see Mr. Markham. He lives at Holloway. Tell him that you come from his brother, who is in trouble, and can't go to him; but that his brother will meet him to-morrow night at ten o'clock on the banks of the canal, near Twig Folly. And,' says the gentleman, 'if he should ask you for a token that you're tellin' the truth, say that this appointment must be kept instead of the one on the top of the hill where two ash trees stand planted.'—Well, the moment I tells Mr. Markham all this, he begins to blubber, and then to laugh, and to dance about the room, crying, 'Oh! my dear—dear brother, shall I then embrace you so soon again?' and such-like nonsense. Then he gives me half a sovereign his-self, and sends me into the kitchen, where the cook makes me eat and drink till I was well-nigh ready to bust. The old butler was rung for; and I've no doubt that his master told him the good news, for when he come back into the kitchen, he treated me with the greatest civility, but asked me a lot of questions about Master Eugene, as he called him. I satisfied him in all ways; and at last I rises, takes my leave of the servants, and comes off."
"Well done!" cried the Resurrection Man, whose cadaverous countenance wore an expression of superlative satisfaction. "And you do not think he entertained the least suspicion?"
"Not a atom,"