CHAPTER CLXXVI.

SCENES IN THE HAUNTED HOUSE.

At five-and-twenty minutes past ten, on this eventful night, Mrs. Mortimer entered the narrow lane leading from the Blackfriars Road into Collingwood Street.

We have already stated that she had persuaded herself into a belief of Jack Rily’s fidelity towards his partner or pal in any enterprise: nevertheless, she could not help wishing that the business in hand was over--and she mentally exclaimed more than once, as she threaded the lane, “Would that to-morrow morning were come!” But she had such a powerful inducement to proceed in the affair at any risk, that the idea of retreating was discarded each time it faintly suggested itself; and when Jack Rily made his appearance, punctually to an instant, she felt her courage worked up to such a pitch that it was difficult to decide whether it arose from entire confidence or utter desperation.

“So, here you are, my fine old tiger-cat,” said the doctor, grasping her hand, with a force that might have been very friendly, but was not the less painful on that account. “I thought you would not flinch: indeed, I made sure you’d come to the scratch.”

“What have I to be afraid of--since you are so sure of being able to overpower the wretch whom you call Vitriol Bob!” demanded Mrs. Mortimer, in a firm tone. “I have already told you that I will undertake to manage the villain Torrens.”

“I long to see you grapple with him,” returned the doctor. “But we must not waste time in idle observations. Listen, my good lady, to our plan of proceeding. Vitriol Bob has a female acquaintance called Molly Calvert--or, in more familiar terms, Pig-faced Poll. This young woman knows his haunt--knows also the signals necessary to induce him to open the door. Besides, whenever he’s missing, she goes straight there, with a basket of provisions and what not--because she naturally suspects that he has done something queer and has found it convenient to make himself scarce. Well--you must be Pig-faced Poll for the nonce----”

“I understand you,” interrupted Mrs. Mortimer. “It is for me to give the signal and obtain admission----”

“Just so, my dear madam--and for us both--because if ever Molly Calvert and I go there together, it’s always the young woman herself who whispers a word of assurance to Vitriol Bob when he opens the door.”

“But suppose that the young woman you speak of, has already repaired to the robber’s haunt--suppose that she is already with him----”

“Now don’t take Jack Rily for an arrant fool!” said the ruffian; and, dark though it were in the narrow lane where this colloquy took place, Mrs. Mortimer could see the huge white teeth of her companion gleaming through the opening of his horrid hare-lip. “I know what I am about,” he continued. “Lord bless you! do you think I have been idle since I saw you this morning? No such thing! I went straight away to Molly Calvert, and made her send out for a bottle of gin. She is uncommonly fond of blue ruin--particularly when she drinks at another person’s expense; and as she drank this afternoon at mine, she did not spare it. In a word, I left her in such a helpless state of intoxication, that if she moves off her bed before two or three o’clock in the morning, then tell Jack Rily he is a fool and incapable of managing any business whatsoever.”

“I give you all possible credit for sagacity and forethought,” said Mrs. Mortimer, purposely flattering the ruffian. “Well, then, the young woman you speak of is placed in a condition which will render her incapable of interfering with our proceedings; and I must personate her for a moment or two, just to obtain admission into the home.”

“_Personate her_ is scarcely the term, my dear madam,” answered Jack Rily: “because if Vitriol Bob only caught a glimpse of you by the neighbouring lamp-light, he would know deuced well that it was not the Pig-faced who sought admission. But it is a mere matter of _vocal stratagem_, if you understand me.”

“Speak plainly and briefly,” said Mrs. Mortimer, with some degree of sharpness in her tone.

“I will put it all into a nut-shell,” responded Jack Rily: then, with rapid utterance but impressive enunciation, he continued:--“The first signal is made by throwing a little gravel at a certain window; but, as that might be accidental, it is necessary to repeat it at the expiration of a minute or so. In a few seconds afterwards Vitriol Bob will open the front door as far as the chain inside will permit--and that is barely an inch: you must then immediately whisper, ‘_It’s me and the Doctor_,’ and the door will be instantly opened wide, Bob standing behind it. You pass rapidly in--and I’m at your heels; and as the passage and the stairs leading down to the kitchen are as dark as pitch, he won’t observe that it is _not_ Molly Calvert whom he has admitted into the house. Now, mind, you must walk straight along the passage, and gain the stairs--and all this without any hesitation, but with an apparent knowledge of the premises. Go rapidly down the stairs, and you will then see a light straight before you. That will be in the front kitchen--and there you are certain to find Torrens. Spring upon him--tackle him desperately: there will not be a minute to lose--because the moment you appear in his presence, he will recognise you--he will utter a cry--and that must be the signal for the fight. Vitriol Bob will be just behind me--and----”

“You will assail him at the instant that I pounce upon Torrens?” said the old woman, with a bitter malignity in her tone, as she already gloated in anticipation upon the vengeance which she hoped to wreak upon her husband.

“Perform your part, ma’am--do all I have told you,” observed Jack Rily; “and leave the rest to me. And now are you ready?”

“Quite,” was the reply. “In which direction do we proceed?”

“The house is in Stamford Street,” answered the Doctor. “But you had now better follow me at a short distance.”

With these words, the man turned round, and proceeded along the narrow lane into the Blackfriars Road, up which he wended his way until he reached the corner of Stamford Street, where he looked back to satisfy himself that Mrs. Mortimer was in his track. He beheld her, by the light of the lamps, at a short distance behind; and, turning into Stamford Street, he was duly followed by her. Halting for a moment, he stooped down, gathered a few small pebbles from the side of the road joining the kerb-stone, and threw them at a window in the area of the dilapidated house which stood third from the corner. He then walked on a few paces, picked up some more little stones and hard crusted dirt, and turning back, met Mrs. Mortimer just opposite the house alluded to. The second volley was discharged at the window; and then they both stationed themselves at the door of the tenement, Mrs. Mortimer being placed in the most convenient position to give an answer to any summons that might issue from within.

The door was opened an inch or two; and the old woman, feigning the tone of a younger female, whispered hastily, “It’s me and the Doctor.” Thereupon the chain fell inside, and the door was opened half-way, Vitriol Bob standing behind it.

Mrs. Mortimer passed hastily in, followed by Jack Rily; and Vitriol Bob, closing the door noiselessly, readjusted the chain.

“Take care, Poll,” he said, in a hoarse and low tone: “don’t be in such a devil of a hurry to get down them stairs--’cos there’s somethink in the door-way of the kitchen that you might stumble over.”

“What is it, Bob?” demanded Jack Rily, hastily; for inasmuch as the real truth flashed to his mind in an instant, he feared lest Mrs. Mortimer should likewise suspect the fact, and, being thrown off her guard, betray herself by some sudden exclamation.

“What is it?--why, a stiff ’un,” responded Vitriol Bob, with a chuckling laugh which sounded horribly in the midst of the total darkness that prevailed in the passage and on the stairs. “I s’pose Poll has let you into the business, since you’ve come along with her,” continued the man; “and though I don’t see what right she had to tell you anythink about it, I ain’t sorry you have come--’cos you can help me to bury the old feller, and you shall have your reglars.”

Mrs. Mortimer now fully comprehended that Torrens had been murdered; and an appalling dread seized upon her--for she felt that she was completely in the power of two diabolical ruffians, who were as capable of assassinating her as one had already been to make away with her husband.

A faintness came over her--and she staggered against the wall for support; when Jack Rily, in answer to Vitriol Bob’s last observations, said, “Oh! Poll didn’t tell me a single word about any business that you had in hand: but as I met her quite by accident and suspected she was coming here, I forced myself, as one may say, upon her company--for I thought you’d be glad to see an old pal, if you was under a cloud.”

These words instantaneously re-assured Mrs. Mortimer. She comprehended that her confederate had uttered them, too, for that purpose; and it flashed to her mind that he only wanted to get Vitriol Bob down into the lower part of the house in order to make an attack upon him. She accordingly recovered her self-possession, and rapidly groped her way to the bottom of the stairs, when a feeble light, glimmering from the kitchen, showed her a sinister object lying just inside the threshold.

The blood ran cold in her veins: for, much as she had hated Torrens--anxiously as she had longed to be avenged upon him--profoundly as she abhorred the tie that to some degree had linked their fates, she nevertheless felt horrified at the conviction that the murdered man lay there--in her very path!

Nevertheless, she still maintained her courage as well as she could, and, hastily passing the lifeless form, entered the cheerless, gloomy kitchen, which indeed appeared to be the proper haunt for such a miscreant as Vitriol Bob, and the fitting scene for such a tragedy as the one which had been enacted there that night!

In the middle of the kitchen she paused, and listened with breathless suspense.

Jack Rily had just reached the bottom of the stairs leading thither: Vitriol Bob had only just begun to descend them.

“Well, here is indeed a stiff ’un,” exclaimed the former, stopping short in the interval between the foot of the steps and the threshold of the kitchen. “What had he done to you, Bob?--and when did this happen?”

“Wait a moment--and I’ll tell you all about it,” was the reply. “I hope Poll has brought lots of grub--for the business hasn’t taken away my appetite.”

“She has got a basket with her,” said Jack Rily.

At this moment Vitriol Bob reached the bottom of the stairs, when the Doctor sprang upon him with the sudden violence of a savage monster; and the murderer was thrown back on the steps.

“Treachery!” he exclaimed, in a tone resembling the subdued roar of a wild beast irritated by its keeper; and the two men were locked in a close embrace--a deadly struggle immediately commencing.

A mortal terror struck to the heart of Mrs. Mortimer, who knew full well that if her confederate should succumb, her own life would not be worth a moment’s purchase; and for upwards of a minute she stood rivetted to the spot, listening to the sounds of the conflict which she could not see.

Suddenly it struck her that she might aid her companion; and, taking from beneath her shawl a coil of rope with which she had intended to bind Torrens, whom she had made certain of subduing, she rushed to the scene of the struggle.

The gleam of light that reached that place, was sufficient, feeble though it were, to show her that Vitriol Bob had the advantage. He had succeeded in getting uppermost; and Jack Rily was struggling desperately underneath the man whose strength he had miscalculated. The conflict was thus progressing, accompanied by deep, low, but bitter execrations, when Mrs. Mortimer, whom a sense of danger suddenly restored to complete self-possession, threw a noose round Vitriol Bob’s neck, and instantly drew it tight,--exclaiming, as she performed this rapid and well-executed feat, “Courage, Rily,--courage: grasp him firmly--loosen not your hold!”

“Damnation!” ejaculated Vitriol Bob, the moment he felt the cord upon his neck and heard a strange female voice,--at the same time making a desperate--nay, almost superhuman effort to tear himself away from his foe and turn round on his new enemy.

But the woman drew the cord as tight as she could, and a sense of faintness came suddenly over the murderer,--so that Jack Rily was in another instant enabled to get uppermost once more.

“Tie his legs, old lady--and then we’ve nothing more to fear!” cried he, as he placed one knee on Vitriol Bob’s chest, and held the vanquished ruffian’s wrists firmly with the iron grasp of his sinewy hands. “Now, keep quiet, old fellow--or you’ll be strangled,” he continued, addressing himself to the wretch whose eyes glared savagely up at him even amidst the obscurity of the place: “It’s useless to resist--you are my prisoner,--and if it’s necessary to make you safer still, I’ll draw my clasp-knife across your throat--which I should be sorry to do, on account of old acquaintanceship.”

“What--what have I done to you--Jack--to--to deserve this?” gasped Vitriol Bob, half strangled with the noose, which, however, was now somewhat relaxed in consequence of Mrs. Mortimer being occupied in tying the other end of the rope round his ankles--a task which she performed with amazing skill and rapidity, and which, in consequence of Rily’s menaces, the vanquished one did not think it prudent to resist.

“I’ll tell you presently what you have done, Bob,” said the Doctor, in answer to the other’s query. “Now that you are bound neck and heels, you are not very formidable: nevertheless, I must just make your arms secure--and then we’ll hold a parley. Here, old lady--put your hand in the pocket on the right side of my coat, and give me out the cord you’ll find there. That’s right! Come--be steady, Bob--or I shall do you a mischief yet.”

The conqueror then proceeded to bind the wrists of the vanquished; and when this was done, he said, “Now, my fine fellow, I will just carry you into the kitchen; and if there is any brandy there, you shall have a drop to wash the dust out of your mouth.”

With these words, Jack Rily raised Vitriol Bob in his arms, and bore him into the kitchen, where he placed him on a chair; and the murderer now perceived for the first time that the female who had mainly contributed to his defeat, was the one whom himself and Torrens had robbed.

Jack Rily, on examining the bottle which he found upon the table, discovered that there was plenty of liquor left in it; and, filling a tumbler, he placed it to the lips of Vitriol Bob, who greedily swallowed the contents--for his throat was indeed parched with the dust raised by the late struggle and the semi-strangulation he had endured.

“Now, my hyena friend--my tiger-cat accomplice,” said the Doctor, turning towards Mrs. Mortimer, who, exhausted in mind and body, had sunk into a chair, “you will likewise partake of the stimulant. And mark you, madam,” he added, with deep emphasis, and in a tone that was particularly re-assuring to the old woman, “I owe you my life--and, whatever my intentions concerning you originally were, I can only now say that I’ll do all that’s fair and honourable towards you. But enough of that: so, drink!”

Mrs. Mortimer, greatly delighted at the result of the night’s expedition, smiled as cordially as her repulsive countenance would permit; but Jack Rily surveyed her with much admiration, for she reminded him at the moment of a pleased hyena after a copious meal. His satisfaction was enhanced by the readiness with which she tossed off the burning fluid; and, taking his turn with the brandy, he drank to her health.

“Now to business once more!” he exclaimed, as he set the glass upon the table. “And first, where’s the money, Bob?” he demanded turning towards the helpless ruffian, who sat moody and scowling in the chair in which be had been placed.

“I suppose you mean to let me have my reglars, Jack?” he said, in a tone which he endeavoured to render as conciliatory and agreeable as possible.

“Not a blessed halfpenny, Bob--and that’s flat,” responded the Doctor, as he plunged his hands into the pockets of his prisoner. “Ah! here’s the swag--and a precious heavy parcel it is too!” he exclaimed, after a few moments’ pause, and in a joyous tone. “My dear madam,” continued the villain, handing the brown paper packet to Mrs. Mortimer, “count it over--see that it’s right--and divide its contents equally. You may as well be satisfied at once that I mean to do what is right towards you--and then, may be, you will think seriously of the propriety of our clubbing our fortunes together, and setting up as a gentleman and lady living on our means--that is, you know, as Mr. and Mrs. Rily.”

All the latter portion of this long sentence was lost--entirely lost upon Mrs. Mortimer: for the moment that her hands grasped the brown paper parcel--that parcel which was so significantly weighty--her whole attention was absorbed in the task of examining its contents. She placed it upon the table; and, by the dim flickering light of the miserable candle, she counted the yellow pieces--turned over the soiled notes--and carefully reckoned up the whole,--exclaiming, at the completion of the business, “It is all right, save in respect to a single sovereign, which I dare say the rogues changed and spent directly. Here is your share, Mr. Rily--and I thank you much for your valuable aid.”

“You are the handsomest ogress I ever saw, when you appear gloating over the recovered gold,” said the Doctor. “If I could afford it, I would actually and positively give you my portion just to have the pleasure of contemplating your physiognomy while you fingered it. But perhaps we may have all things in common yet between you and me.”

Thus speaking, the ruffian secured his share of the spoil about his person--an example that was immediately followed by Mrs. Mortimer in respect to her division;--and all the while Vitriol Bob sate looking on with a countenance of the most demoniac ferocity. It was evident that, could the wretch release himself from his bonds, his rage would endow him with a strength calculated to give matters quite another turn: but he was helpless--powerless,--and this consciousness of his enthralled predicament only rendered his hatred the more savage against his successful enemies, and made his longings for revenge the more eager and also the more torturing on account of their unavailing intensity.

“I will now tell you, Bob,” said Jack Rily, turning towards him, “why I have played you this trick--and you will acknowledge that it is only tit for tat. You remember the swell’s crib we broke into at Peckham? Well--you found a bag containing a hundred and twenty sovereigns, in a drawer--and you never mentioned a word about it when we came to divide the plunder.”

“It’s a lie--a damned lie!” ejaculated the villain, ferociously.

“Say that again,” cried the Doctor, his hare-lip becoming absolutely white with rage, while the scar upon his cheek grew crimson,--“and I will cut your throat from ear to ear. How could I invent such a tale? But I saw the advertisement in the papers about the robbery--I read that a bag containing a hundred and twenty pounds in gold was abstracted from a chest of drawers--and I well remembered that you searched those drawers, and afterwards assured me there was nothing in them worth taking. I did not tell you that I had thus become aware of your treachery, because I resolved to be revenged some day or other. That day has now arrived--and you have the consolation of knowing that you have lost thousands in consequence of your beggarly meanness respecting a paltry sixty sovereigns, which was my share of the sum you kept back.”

“Well--’sposing it is all as you say, Jack,” exclaimed Vitriol Bob, assuming a humble and indeed abject tone,--“ain’t you more than even with me to-night? and won’t you let me have my reglars? We shall then be good friends again.”

“I do not mean to give you one farthing of my money--and I know this old lady won’t,” responded the Doctor. “As to our being friends again, I care not whether we become so, or whether we continue enemies. You can’t do me so much harm as I can you, Bob,” added Rily, in an impressive manner, and without a particle of his usual coarse jocularity: “for you have to-night done a deed that, if known, would send you to the scaffold.”

A deadly pallor passed over the countenance of the murderer; and he writhed in his chair with mingled rage and terror.

“Now, my old hyena,” exclaimed the doctor, turning towards Mrs. Mortimer, “I told you that you should have a good opportunity of seeing Vitriol Bob in all his hideousness. Which do you think is the ugliest of the two--he or me?”

And he grinned so horribly with his hare-lip and his gleaming teeth, that the old woman was for an instant appalled by the fiendish, malignant joy that caused his countenance thus to assume so frightful an expression.

“Well--you don’t like to pass an opinion upon the matter,” he said, with a chuckling laugh: “may be you think I am the ugliest of the two, and that it would hurt my feelings to tell me so. Lord bless you, my dear madam--a right down savage, ferocious, revolting ugliness is a splendid subject for admiration to my mind. The uglier people are--provided it’s the right sort of ugliness--the handsomer they are in my eyes. This may seem paradoxical--but it’s the truth; and it’s on that principle I am ready to marry you to-morrow, if you’ll have me. However--think upon it: there’s no hurry for your decision, my dear creature--pardon me for being so familiar. And now I may as well tell you that it was not my original intention to let you have one penny piece of all that swag,” he continued, after a few moments’ pause. “I had purposed to make use of you in obtaining it--and then self-appropriate it; because I didn’t look upon you in the light of a pal with whom it was necessary to keep faith. The moment, however, that you interfered in the struggle just now, the case became suddenly altered: you saved my life--and I wouldn’t harm a hair of your head for all the world. So you are quite welcome to take your departure at once if you will: but I should esteem it a mark of confidence if you’d remain here with me a few hours longer--and I’ll tell you why.”

“Show me a good reason,and I shall not object,” remarked Mrs. Mortimer, knowing that the man, in spite of his conciliatory observations, had the power to enforce, if he chose, what he seemed to ask as a favour.

“I will explain myself,” resumed Jack Rily: then glancing towards Vitriol Bob, he said, “Our friend here must remain in that condition until I can send Pig-faced Poll to release him from his bonds. It would not be worth while to risk another conflict by taking on ourselves the part of liberators. His young woman shall therefore be entrusted with that agreeable duty: but as she is drunk in bed----”

Vitriol Bob uttered a sound resembling the savage but subdued growl of a wild beast.

“As she is drunk in bed,” repeated Jack Rily, with a chuckle, “she won’t be fit to undertake the task until it’s pretty near daylight; and it would not be safe to leave the poor devil alone here for so many hours. I don’t seek his death; but he might fall off his chair, tumble flat on his face, and not be able to right himself--for it’s by no means an easy thing to shift one’s position when bound neck and heels like that. So remain with him I must and will. His company will not, however, prove the most agreeable after all that has occurred betwixt us; and now you can guess why I ask you as a favour to stay with me--say till two o’clock, when we will take our departure and send Poll Calvert, who will be sufficiently sober by that time, to cut his cords.”

“I consent to remain here until two o’clock,” said Mrs. Mortimer: “only----”

And she glanced, with shuddering aversion, towards the door.

“Ah! I understand you, my dear tiger-cat,” exclaimed Jack Rily: “you don’t admire the presence of the stiff ’un there. Lord bless you! if you’d only been my wife when I was a doctor, you would have become familiar enough with articles of that kind--aye, and have thought nothing of shaking hands with a resurrection man. But it’s all habit; and so, since you would feel more comfortable if that bundle over there was moved, I’ll just drag it into the back kitchen--and our friend here will doubtless amuse himself by burying it to-morrow night.”

Having thus delivered himself with characteristic levity, the Doctor rose from the barrel whereon he had been seated, and taking up the candle, proceeded to transfer the dead body of Torrens from the threshold of the door into the back kitchen.

Mrs. Mortimer was now left in the company of the murderer, and in total darkness; and though she knew that he was bound beyond a chance of self-release, yet a cold shudder passed over her frame, as she thought of what would be the consequences were it possible for him to cast off the strong cords that restrained him.

Scarcely had this reflection entered her mine, when a voice--stealing, at it were, like the hiss of an invisible serpent through the utter darkness of the place--smote upon her ear.

“Madam--Mrs. Mortimer--loosen the cord--and I will give you half of what I shall then take from that villain Rily!” were the earnest, hastily uttered words that were thus suddenly whispered by the murderer.

The old woman was so startled that she could make no reply; and in another moment the light reappeared.

She mechanically cast her eyes towards Vitriol Bob; and the returning glimmer fell upon a countenance infuriate with rage, disappointment, and renewed spite;--but she did not think it worth while to mention to the Doctor the treacherous proposal that had been made to her during his temporary absence.

“I have put the corpse in the back kitchen,” said Rily, resuming his seat on the barrel: then, after a few moments’ pause, he observed, “This is the second murder that has been committed in this house.”

“The second!” exclaimed Mrs. Mortimer, suddenly animated with a feeling of morbid curiosity.

“Yes--the second,” repeated Rily. “What! did you never hear how these three houses came to be shut up, and why they are supposed to be haunted?”

“Never,” answered the old woman, her manner convincing the garrulous Mr. John Rily that she had no objection to be enlightened on the subject.

“Well--as it can’t be more than half-past eleven o’clock, and we have two hours and a half to pass away, according to agreement, in this place,” resumed the Doctor, “I don’t mind telling you the whole story. Our friend Bob here has heard it often enough, I dare say: but he will himself admit that it bears telling over and over again.”

Jack Rily paused for a few moments, and then commenced the promised narrative, which we shall, however, put into our own language, the semi-jocular and flippant style of the Doctor not being quite suited for so serious a history.