CHAPTER LXXVI.

TIM THE SNAMMER AND JOSH PEDLER OUT ON BUSINESS.

He who delights in wandering amongst the mazes of this mighty city of London,—this wilderness of brick and mortar,—and who can view, with the eye of a philosopher or a moralizer, the various phases in which the metropolis is to be considered, may find ample food for reflection, and much changing interest of scene, if he post himself at that point in the Borough of Southwark, called Newington Butts.

From this point diverge Blackman Street, the Newington Road, the Borough Road, and Horsemonger Lane.

Blackman Street and the Newington Road constitute the great thoroughfare between London Bridge and the _Elephant and Castle_ tavern; and incalculable are the multitudes—innumerable are the vehicles, which pass along the busy way,—oh! so busy, because the love of money and the love of pleasure cause all those comings and goings,—those hurryings hither and thither,—those departures, and those returns!

What a tremendous conflict of interests,—what a wondrous striving to accomplish objects in view,—what an energy—what an activity—what an unwearied industry, are denoted by a great thoroughfare like this! Nor less does that bustle speak of recreation and enjoyment—parties of pleasure to end in dissipation—amusement, diversion, and holiday, too often to be dearly paid for thereafter!

Close by Newington Butts you behold a portion of the wall of the Bench Prison, with its _chevaux de frise_, denoting rather the criminal prison than a place of confinement for unfortunate persons. What a horrible cruelty it is to incarcerate men who are unable to liquidate their liabilities—as if such immurement would place within their reach the philosopher's stone. Where one dishonest debtor finds his way thither, a dozen human beings who are enclosed within that gloomy wall, would gladly—willingly, acquit themselves of their responsibilities if they had the means. And shall the law be so framed that, in order to punish one, it must cruelly oppress twelve individuals? Is such a principle consistent with common sense, justice, or civilisation? Many and many a heart has been broken within those walls: many and many a fine spirit has been crushed down to the very dust; and the man who went into that prison with honourable feelings and generous sympathies, has gone forth prepared to play the part of a sneaking swindler. For a creditor to lock his debtor up in prison, is the same as if a master took away the tools from a mechanic and said, "Now do your work as usual." The Legislature does not understand this. It allows an expensive process to take place, so that the debtor who cannot originally pay 50_l._, for instance, has his liabilities immediately increased to 60_l._: then, when responding negatively to the demand for this larger sum, he is taken away from the avocations by pursuing which he might obtain the means to settle with his creditor, and is thrown into prison. The routine is precisely this:—If a person cannot pay a debt, you increase it for him: and, having increased it, you tie his hands so that he shall have no chance of paying it at all! Merciful heavens! is this common sense?[35]

The system of imprisonment for debt falls trebly hard upon the poor. The gentleman, though reduced himself, has friends who can assist him; but the poor are too poor to aid each other. Then money can purchase bail when a schedule has been filed in the Insolvents' Court; but the poor man must languish in prison until his hearing. Oh! the advantages of wealth or wealthy connexions in this mercenary land!—oh! the benefits of being by birth _a gentleman_!

It was about ten o'clock in the evening, when Tim the Snammer and Josh Pedler encountered each other, by appointment, at Newington Butts; and, as it was yet too early for the business which they had in hand, they repaired to a public-house hard by, where they drank porter, smoked pipes, and conversed, until the clock in the tap-room denoted the hour of eleven.

They then rose, paid their score, and took their departure,—bending their way into Horsemonger Lane.

Tim the Snammer now fell a few paces behind his comrade, Josh Pedler, who hurried a short distance up the lane, and stopped at the door of a house of mean, sordid, and sombre appearance.

He knocked at the door, which was opened by an old and hideous-looking woman, holding in her hand a candle, by the light of which she surveyed the visitor in a very suspicions manner.

"I want to speak to a genelman of the name of Bones which lives here," said Josh, placing his foot, with apparent carelessness, in such a way over the threshold that the door might not be shut against his inclination.

"No sich a person don't live here," returned the woman gruffly; and she was about to close the door, when Josh again addressed her.

"Well," said he, "if he don't pass by that there name, he does by another—and it's all the same. We ain't partickler, ma'am, as to names; but my business is partickler, though—and I've got an appintment with Mr. Benjamin Bones—or Old Death—or whatever else he calls his-self or is called by others."

"It ain't of no use a standing bothering here, my good man," said the woman, "'cause vy—no sich a person lives here, I tell you—and I don't know sich a person by sich a name at all."

"Humbug!" cried Josh and, giving a low, short whistle, he pushed into the house.

A moment had not elapsed ere Tim the Snammer was at his heels—the door was forcibly closed—the candle was wrested from the old woman's hand—and she was threatened with throttling if she attempted to raise an alarm.

The two men bound her with a cord, and carried her into the room opening from the passage. They then left her, vowing with terrible oaths to return and "do for her," if she dared make the slightest disturbance.

"There isn't a room on t'other side of the passage, is there, Tim?" demanded Josh of his companion, who carried the light.

"No. And now let's creep up stairs as gentle as if we was mice," said the Snammer.

"You've got your barkers, Tim?" asked Pedler.

"Yes—and a damned good clasp knife too," replied the ruffian, with a significant leer at his accomplice, and speaking in a low whisper. "I don't think we shall find any one else in the house besides that old woman and Ben Bones his-self, 'cause Mutton-Face Sal is a devilish keen one—and she would have found it out if there was any lodgers."

"Well, cut up stairs, Tim," said Josh Pedler, "and don't let us be a-standing here palavering—or the old scamp may overhear us and get out by the back windows, or some such a dodge. I'll go fust, if you like."

"No—I'll go fust, Josh," answered the Snammer; "for it's me that has got the most spite agin the ancient willain."

With these words, Tim Splint crept cautiously up the narrow and dirty staircase, Josh Pedler following close behind him.

The robbers stopped at the door on the first landing, and knocked; but, no answer being returned, they broke it open in a few moments by means of a small stout chisel such as housebreakers are in the habit of using.

"Who's there?" cried the deep, sepulchral voice of Old Death, as he started from the arm-chair in which he had been taking a nap.

"It's only two of your friends," returned Tim the Snammer; "and _as_ friends you had better treat us, too—or it'll be the wuss for you."

"I don't know that I ever treated you in any way but as friends," said old Death, glancing somewhat uneasily from the one to the other. "As for you, Tim—I can guess why you're angry with me; but I wasn't at liberty—I wasn't my own master, I can assure you—on that Saturday when I promised to get you out of the Jug; or I should have kept my word. But it's too long a story to tell you now—even if I was disposed to do so; and so the shortest way to make us all right, is for me to give you back the money that was placed in my hands by Josh Pedler."

"And what'll pay me for the two months of quod that I had all through you, you cheating old fence?" demanded Tim Splint, placing his back against the door in a determined manner.

"I couldn't help it, Tim—I couldn't help it," returned Old Death with a hideous grin. "And may be—may be," he added, with the hesitation habitual to him, "I can put something in your way, that will make up for the past."

"Well—that looks like business, at all events," observed Tim, exchanging a rapid glance with his companion; for it struck the two robbers at the same moment, that they should perhaps act prudently to join Old Death in any enterprise which he might have in hand, and then plunder him afterwards—provided that the affair he had to propose, gave promise of a better booty than that which they stood the immediate chance of obtaining from him.

Old Death looked leisurely round the small, mean, and ill-furnished room, as much as to say, "What can you hope to get out of me?"—for the meaning of the glances which he had observed to pass between the two robbers, was perfectly well understood by him.

"Is the business you hinted at for to-night?" demanded Josh Pedler, after a brief pause.

"For to-night," replied Benjamin Bones. "But sit down, my good friends, and may be I can find a dram of brandy in the bottle for you."

"Thank'ee, we'll stand, old chap," said the Snammer; "but we shan't refuse the bingo, for all that."

Old Death regaled his two visitors each with a wine glass full of brandy, and then took a similar quantity himself.

"Yes," he said, continuing the discourse: "it is for to-night—and a good thing may be made of it, if you're staunch and resolute. In fact, I wanted to meet with a couple of such active fellows as you are, for I have been sadly used lately—in more ways than one."

"Well, what is it?" demanded Tim the Snammer. "You know that we're the lads to do any thing it ought to be done; and I don't see the use of wasting time, if the business is really for to-night."

"I have had positive information," continued Old Death, his dark eyes gleaming snake-like beneath the shaggy brows that overhung them, "that a gentleman, who lives in a lonely house not many miles off, this morning received a considerable sum of money at a banker's, on a cheque which he get cashed there; and in a few days he will pay it all away to his creditors—for he has been building a great number of houses at Norwood; and so I think," added Bones, with a horrible chuckle, "that it would be just as well to anticipate him."

"And can you rely on this information?" asked Tim the Snammer. "Come—let us know all the particklers."

"Two or three days ago he took into his service a man named John Jeffreys—a groom who was lately in the household of a certain Sir Christopher Blunt," said Old Death; "and this person sells his secrets to those who pay him best."

"In plain terms he's in your pay," exclaimed Josh Pedler. "Well—that's all right. What next?"

"Nothing more than that if you like to crack that crib, you can do it to-night; and I'll smash the notes, which will be of no use to you till they're melted into gold," answered Old Death; thereby intimating to them, first that he should take no active part in the business, and secondly that it would not be worth their while to cheat him of his share of the plunder, inasmuch as they were totally dependent on him for rendering the hoped-for booty at all available.

Tim the Snammer and Josh Pedler consulted together for a few moments in low whispers.

"But how do we know," said the former, suddenly turning round upon Old Death, "that this isn't all a cursed plant to get us out of the house here—or may be to inveigle us into some infernal trap—eh? Answer us that."

"Read John Jeffreys' note," said Old Death coolly, as he produced the letter from the pocket of his capacious old grey surtout coat.

Tim the Snammer, and Josh Pedler, accordingly read the contents of the paper, which ran as follow:—

"This cums to tel you, sir, that Master resceved a chek for about twelve undred pouns yesterday from Sir enry courtenee, a barrow-night, and that master got it keshed this mornin at the benk, wich I no becos I had to go with him in the gigg to the benk, and I see him cum out of the benk a-countin the notes, and I no he will pay it all away in 2 or 3 days to his bilders and arkitecks and carpinters at norwood. anny thing you leeve for mee in a broun paper parsel at the ushoul crib will reech mee. Yure fatheful servant,

"J. J."

"Satisfactory enow," exclaimed Tim the Snammer, with an appealing glance to his comrade, who nodded his head approvingly. "Well," continued the thief, "give us the necessary description of the place; and we'll be off at once. It's fortnit that we've got our tools about us."

"Which you have used against my miserable lodging," observed Old Death, with a grim smile. "However, I would rather you'd have introduced yourselves in that way, than not come at all; for I should have let this matter," he added, pointing to Jeffreys' note, which now lay on the table, "go by without attending to it. So it's lucky for us all that you did make your appearance; and if you serve me well in this case, you shall not want employment of my finding."

"Good again, old tulip," said Tim the Snammer; "and now tell us where this Mr. Torrings lives—or whatever his name is—and we will lose no time."

Old Death gave the necessary explanation; and the two men took their departure, having first acquainted their employer with the condition in which they had left the old woman down stairs—a piece of information which made him hasten to her rescue.

Footnote 35:

The records of the Insolvent Debtors' Court prove that the average dividend paid upon the estates of persons who take the benefit of the Act is _one farthing_ in the pound!