CHAPTER LXXXIX.

THE SURPRISE.—JEFFREYS AND OLD DEATH.

The deep tones of St. Luke's bell, proclaiming the hour of eleven, oscillated though the gusty air, as Tim the Snammer entered the narrow road dividing the two burial-grounds belonging to the church. John Jeffreys was already at the place of appointment; and not many moments had elapsed after those two met, ere Josh Pedler joined them, bringing with him the necessary implements for the work of resurrectionists, and which he instantly threw over the wall.

"What a windy night it is," said Tim the Snammer; "and how precious dark."

"All the better for our business," observed Josh Pedler. "I should have been here a little earlier; but I had such a cursed deal of trouble to get rid of that bothering wench 'Tilda. She wouldn't let me come out at first; and swore that if I did, she'd foller me."

"And did she follow you?" demanded Jeffreys.

"Deuce a bit," answered Josh. "I was obliged to give her a good drubbing because she whimpered, and then another to make her hold her tongue; and afterwards we kissed and made it up—and so she went quietly to bed. What strange things women are, to be sure! If you beat 'em, they're sure to love you all the more."

"Well, are we going to stand here talking all night?" cried Tim the Snammer. "Who knows but what there's a watchman about here?"

"I know there isn't," said Jeffreys: "because I made the enquiry in a careless kind of way at a public-house close by, where I bought some brandy in a pint bottle."

"That's capital!" cried Tim. "Give us a dram, old feller."

"I got it on purpose to keep the cold out and our spirits up," said Jeffreys, playing his part admirably so as to gain time, in obedience to the orders he had received from his master. "Who was it that came with Tidmarsh this morning to see the place where Tom Rain is buried?"

"I did," answered Tim the Snammer, smacking his lips in approval of the brandy, and handing the bottle to Josh Pedler.

"Ah! Tom Rain was a fine fellow!" said Jeffreys. "I knew him well. In fact, I was with old Sir Christopher and Frank Curtis the night he robbed them. What a bold, dashing, and yet cool-headed chap Rainford was!"

"The finest highwayman that England ever had," observed Josh Pedler, returning the bottle to Jeffreys.

"Beat your Dick Turpins and your Jack Sheppards all to nothink!" added Tim the Snammer. "I say, Josh, let you and me take to the road when we've done Old Death's business for him, and sacked the blunt he's still got to pay us."

"Well—well, we'll see about it, Tim," answered Pedler. "But—hush! here's some one coming. Let's pretend to be walking on: we haven't time to jump over after the tools."

The three accordingly put themselves in motion; but Jeffreys knew pretty well that the critical moment was now at hand. Tim the Snammer affected to whistle a tune in a careless way; and Josh Pedler began talking loud on some indifferent subject.

Meantime, the footsteps advanced; and it was evident that more than one person was approaching. In fact, there seemed to be three or four; but Josh Pedler and Tim Splint had not the least suspicion of impending danger: they thought that a party of jovial fellows were returning from the public-house—an idea that was excited by the merry song which one of the persons now approaching was singing.

A few minutes brought the two parties within ten paces of each other; when a sudden and suspicious noise was heard, as of a rustling of clothes against the walls which bounded the road. Both Tim the Snammer and Josh Pedler stopped short, alarmed and irresolute: the next instant they, as well as Jeffreys, were seized by two persons who leaped upon them from the walls, and by those who had advanced along the road.

Jeffreys was liberated the moment he mentioned his name; and he hurried away as quickly as possible from the scene of the surprise and capture;—but not before he had witnessed enough, even in the obscurity of the night, to convince him that Josh Pedler and Tim the Snammer were gagged and rendered powerless in the grasp of the agents of the mysterious Blackamoor.

And such was indeed the fact. Before they were able to offer the slightest resistance, or even utter a cry, they were reduced to the condition just described. Their captors immediately divided into two parties, each bearing off a prisoner, so that the villains had not even the consolation of remaining together.

So well were all the arrangements made to ensure the complete success of the affair, that a vehicle was waiting in the vicinity of each end of the road separating the burial-grounds; and the moment the prisoners were thrust inside, bandages were tied over their eyes.

Tim the Snammer was the first who arrived at the place of the villains' destination. At the expiration of an hour from the time of his capture, the vehicle, which had purposely driven about in a circuitous manner, stopped at a house, into which the prisoner was hurried. Up a flight of stairs he was then led—through several rooms—and at length down a long spiral descent of stone steps, a trap shutting with a crashing sound above, and a huge door opening and closing with the din of massiveness below,—then along a place in which the rapid tread of the numerous feet echoed with a gloomy and hollow sound, as if in a paved and vaulted passage,—and lastly into a dungeon, where the wretched man was deposited, unbound, and left to himself, the huge door closing upon him,—such was the hurried progress and ultimate destination of Tim the Snammer in the strange and unknown place to which his captors had borne him!

The treatment experienced by Josh Pedler was precisely the same, save that he did not enter his prison-house until a good half hour after the arrival of his companion in iniquity.

* * * * *

In the meantime, John Jeffreys proceeded to Seven Dials, and found Old Death seated with Mrs. Bunce, Toby having been dismissed—as was usual when Mr. Bones had business to transact in Earl Street—to the public-house to amuse himself with his pipe and his pint.

Old Death was surprised and alarmed when he beheld Jeffreys make his appearance so early, and unaccompanied by Tim Splint and Josh Pedler.

"Is any thing the matter?" enquired the ancient miscreant, as Mrs. Bunce carefully closed the room door.

"No great harm—only something to delay your business," replied Jeffreys.

"Well—if it's no worse, there isn't much harm done," said Old Death. "But where are the others?"

"It's just on account of them that nothing has been done to-night," answered Jeffreys. "In two words, they funked over the affair and have given it up."

"What!" cried Old Death, his countenance becoming grim and ghastly with rage and disappointment: "those scoundrels have received my money—my good money—thirty pounds each, in advance—and have given up the business! You are joking, Jeffreys,—you are bantering me! Why, Tim the Snammer would go through fire and water for such a sum of money as I promised him; and Josh Pedler would sell his skin for half the amount."

"All I can say is this, Mr. Bones," continued Jeffreys, "that I was punctual at the place of meeting at five minutes to eleven; and when Tim Splint and Josh Pedler made their appearance, they said they had changed their minds and should not proceed farther in the business, and that I might come and tell you so if I liked."

"The villains!—the rascals!" growled Old Death, clenching his fists, and working his toothless jaws about horribly as he spoke.

"I asked them what had made them come to such a resolution," proceeded Jeffreys; "and they said that on account of Torrens's affair they had plenty of money, and it was useless to risk transportation by turning resurrectionists, at least before it was all spent. I argued with them—but it was all in vain: they went away to some public-house; and as I couldn't do the job myself, I started off here to tell you what had occurred."

"Those men don't know me, or they would not attempt to play their tricks in this fashion," murmured Old Death: then, turning towards Jeffreys, he said in a louder tone, and in a conciliating manner, "But you are a good fellow—you are faithful and true, as I always found you; and I am pleased with you. The day will come when Tim the Snammer and Josh Pedler shall bitterly repent of their conduct! But in the meantime I am not to be disappointed in my vengeance—I will not be foiled: I have set my mind on a particular course—and I will follow it."

"There are other men in the world who can do all you require, Mr. Bones, besides Tim the Snammer and Josh Pedler," said Jeffreys. "I wish you had spoken to me first of all——"

"Why so?" demanded Old Death, hastily.

"Because I could have got a couple of chaps to help me to do all the business, and who would have been contented with a quarter of the money you promised those sneaking scoundrels Splint and Pedler," answered Jeffreys.

"Indeed!" cried Old Death eagerly. "You are a good fellow, Jeffreys—an excellent fellow; and you may always calculate upon having me as your friend. But where are these people that you speak of?—who are they?"

"You don't know any thing of them, I fancy," was the reply. "They are like myself—servants out of place; but they are a precious sight worse off than me in respect to money-matters, and would be glad to do any odd job for a ten-pound note or so."

"And when can you see them?" demanded Old Death.

"When can I see them?" repeated Jeffreys in a musing tone, as if he were giving the matter his most serious consideration: "why—I might hunt them up to-morrow night—in fact, I'm sure I could——"

"And you can make an appointment for me to see them the night after?" said Old-Death, with fiendish eagerness to consummate the atrocious vengeance which he had planned.

"I will undertake to do that, Mr. Bones," returned Jeffreys. "Shall I explain to them the nature of the business before they see you, or not?"

"No—let me see them first!" said Old Death. "Or stay—you may sound 'em about the resurrection business—but mention no names at all. Don't tell them who has employed you to treat with them——"

"Mr. Bones is a good judge of people's faces," observed Mrs. Bunce; "and knows by their looks whether they're to be trusted or not."

"Generally speaking, I do—generally speaking," said Old Death. "Now, for instance," he added, staring from beneath his shaggy, overhanging brows, full upon the countenance of Jeffreys, "I know that you're faithful—and I can trust you."

The man to whom these words were addressed, met the searching look fixed upon him with an unchanging cheek and eyes that quailed not; although for a moment he feared lest Old Death had suddenly entertained some suspicion concerning him. But it seemed that the ancient miscreant, with all his boasted skill in reading the human physiognomy, was on this occasion completely at fault.

"To tell you the truth, Jeffreys," he continued, "I never liked the looks of the Snammer: but I thought that good pay would make him faithful. However, he will yet repent his conduct towards me—and so shall Josh Pedler. If it wasn't for their infernal treachery, my vengeance would be by this time in a fair way towards prompt and speedy gratification. For if that Earl was allowed to go scot-free—if I didn't punish him—aye, and fearfully too—for all the injuries he has done to me, I should go mad! My property all destroyed—my riches taken from me—the very house that was so useful to me——"

"Don't take on so, Mr. Bones!" interrupted Mrs. Bunce, in a coaxing manner. "Come—shall I put a leetle brandy on the table?"

"No—gin!" ejaculated Old Death savagely: then, turning towards Jeffreys, he said, "You won't bring those friends of yours here, mind, the night after to-morrow: it will be quite time to let them know where I live and where business will afterwards lead them to meet me, when I have satisfied myself that they are of the right sort."

"You don't think I would ask you to employ any one that I wasn't sure of?" exclaimed Jeffreys, affecting an angry tone.

"No—no, my good fellow," hastily responded Old Death: "but experience—experience teaches us much; and my experience is greater than yours. Come—take a glass of gin-and-water, and don't be annoyed. I didn't mean to vex you."

"Say no more about it, then," observed Jeffreys. "Where shall we meet the night after to-morrow?"

"Let me see," mused Benjamin Bones aloud: "I have an appointment for that evening in the actual neighbourhood of St. Luke's Church; and there's a flash ken in Helmet Row, called the _Stout House_. We will meet there between ten and eleven."

"Agreed," said Jeffreys. "Have you any farther instructions?"

"None—none, my good fellow," answered Old Death: "only don't promise your two friends too much for the services required of them. You see how I have lost already by those scoundrels Pedler and Splint: but I will be even with them—I will!"

"The two persons I shall introduce to you will do your work well and cheap, Mr. Bones," replied Jeffreys; "and I am sure you will be satisfied. I shall now be off—because I may perhaps find them to-night. At all events we meet at the _Stout House_, Helmet Row, the night after next."

"Exactly," said Old Death. "By the way, if you run against Tim the Snammer or Josh Pedler, just try and find out where they are to be met with, and let me know."

"I'll bear it in mind," answered Jeffreys.

He then took his departure, well pleased at the success which had hitherto attended his proceedings in working out the designs and fulfilling the instructions of his master.

But who was that master?—and where dwelt the mysterious personage? Ah! these were points which defied all conjecture.

* * * * *

On the following evening, shortly before nine o'clock, Jeffreys was pacing Wilderness Row, in obedience to the appointment arranged by his employer.

He was not kept waiting many minutes, ere the youth Cæsar accosted him.

"Our master," said the lad, "has sent me to inquire of you the result of your interview with Old Death; and he desires me to assure you that he is well satisfied with your conduct of last night, inasmuch as you effectually amused your companions until their captors came up. But what of Old Death?"

"He has completely fallen into the snare laid for him," answered Jeffreys; "and will meet me and _my two friends_," he added significantly, "at the _Stout House_, Helmet Row, to-morrow night between ten and eleven."

"Good!" observed Cæsar. "Wilton and another of our master's retainers, both dressed in a suitable manner, will meet you at that place to-morrow night shortly before ten, so that you may have time to arrange the plan of proceeding together, before Old Death makes his appearance."

"I shall not fail to be there at a quarter to ten," answered Jeffreys. "Have you any further orders for me?"

"Yes," replied Cæsar: "listen! To-morrow you must endeavour to find out the abode of one Tidmarsh, a friend of Old Death's."

"That will be easily accomplished to-morrow night when I meet Benjamin Bones," said Jeffreys. "You are aware that the object of my appointment with him, is to introduce to him two friends of mine who will undertake to dig up the remains of Tom Rainford, the famous highwayman."

"Yes—yes," said Cæsar hastily.

"Well," continued Jeffreys, "I am supposed to be the leader of the party by whom that task is to be performed; and I shall tell Old Death that he must send Tidmarsh with me in the morning to point out the place where Rainford is buried. He will then let me know where Tidmarsh lives; or else will at once make him write a note to that person to arrange an appointment."

"I understand," said Cæsar. "But suppose that Old Death will do neither, alleging that he will call himself on Tidmarsh and send him to meet you on the following morning at some place named? In this case all will be wrong, because Old Death is to be captured to-morrow night on his way home. Had you not better call in Seven Dials to-morrow morning, tell Old Death that you have found your friends and made the appointment with them for the evening, and then ask him to let Tidmarsh at once afford you the clue you will require to—to—the grave of Rainford?" asked the lad, his voice trembling and hesitating slightly as he uttered the concluding words of his question.

"I understand you perfectly, Cæsar," replied Jeffreys. "Leave it to me to manage as our master desires: I will undertake to be able to give Wilton good news of Tidmarsh to-morrow night."

"Our master will rely upon you," said the youth. "Meantime farewell;"—and he hurried rapidly away, Jeffreys not offering to follow him.