The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 207: what you’re looking at

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190 By nine o'clock in the evening the outlines of a heavenly face had been sketched on that canvass; for the young artiet worked unweariedly until the old female domestic called him to supper. This meal was served in the kitahen; and on the present acoasion it was somewhat more bounteous in quan- tity and inviting in quality than usual—for the pio- ture-dealer was slightly moved to liberality by the good business he had done that day. After supper Mr. Shrubsole despatched the ser- vant to the nearest tavern for two bottles of wine; and the party—consisting of the picture-dealer him- self, the artist, the domestic, and the boy — sate drinking and conversing until the booming bell of St Sepulchre’s Churoh proclaimed the hour of even, “ Now, then—to-bed f* exclaimed Mr. Shrubeole, rizing from his eeat with a partial degree of difficulty, and staggering somewhat as he extended his hand to grasp the ehainber-candle. At this moment there was a loud and imperious double-knoek at the street door ;—and the domestic hastened to respond to the summona Those who remained behind im the kitehen heard her aseend the stairs—open the door—ansewer a few questions put te her by several voices, both male and female—and then admit the visitors jnte the passage, the door im- mediately afterwards closing behind them. All this did Mr. Shrubsole, George Woodfall, and the boy Tom hear as plainly as possible in the kitchen below: but suddenly a dead silence succeeded — and not another sound reached them after the echoes raised hy the shutting of the street-door had died away. “This is very ex—tri—traordinary,’” murmured Mr. Shrubsele, glancing with a kind of vacant uneasi- ness at the artist, “I could swear—hio—that—I—I peard people come-—hio—into the-~hie— hic — use,”’ “ I will go and see,” said Woodfall ;—and, hasten- ing out of the kitchen, he ascended the stairs. It struck beth the picture-dealer and Tom that they heard something like a short scuffle in the passage over-head: but if it were sa, the eonflict ceased almost instantapeetsly and was unmarked by a single cry for assistance.. A solemn silence again pre- vailed ;—and uselessly did Shfubsale hold his breath in the hope of catching the sounds of George Wood- fall’a returning feotetepa. It appeared as if both the servant and the artist had been spirited away by some supernatural agency: for not a sowuid was heard— na not even the rustling of a dress | “Tom—Tom—the devil’s in the house,” whispered the picture-dealer, pretty well sobered by the terror arising from the mysterious cecurteness of the last few minutes. “Lord bless ye, cir!” returned the beys “I'll be bound it’s only « bit of fan of seme kind or another. I’m not afraid.” Aud away he rushed up the staircate, purposely making his hob-nailed shoes clatter as heavily as he could upen the steps. The picture-dealer listened with suspended breath: he could tell when the boy reached the passage—and there he suddenly stopped. At the same instant a sharp noise, like that of a man’s hand alapping s face or striking with the flat of the palm against a wall, fell on Shrubsole’s ear. A short rapMi scuffle followed;—and then all was still througheut the house, and silent as the grave. The eld man sank dewn upon a chair, gasping for breav.; while his countenance, as the flickering THE MYSTERIES. gleams of awretehed candle played upon it, was hideous with the workings of excessive terror. His limbe trembled convulsively—his tips, white and blood lese, quivered like aspens—and his eyes glared wilds in the direetion of the door leading to the dark stair case, as if he every mormment expected that some grisl) spectre would come ferth from the obscurity. Suddenly he started up: his fears goaded him th desperation ;—and desperation gave him courage Thieves might be plundering his house, while he was sitting helplessly and pusillanimously in the kitchen. Taking up the light, he ascended the stairs, hold ing the candle bigh above his head so as to throw it rays forward. But ecarcely had he mounted half-a dozen steps, when something whissed through the air—apparently coming from the passage: and in a moment the candle was struck fram the old man’s hand. Uttering a leud cry, he fell back senseless ;—ano when censciousness slowly returned, he found him self seated by the kitchen fire, on which more coals had evidently been heaped. At the same instant In became aware that he was fastened by a strotig cord. which bound him hand and foot, to the arm-chai wherein he had been so considerately placed. A candle—the very one which had been dashed from his grasp by the well-aimed missile—was burn- ing on the table;—and around the kitchen did Mr. Shrubsole now glance hastily. His fears—if his selfishness allowed him to entertain any apart from those which concerned his property and his gold— were immediately relieved in respect to the artist, the old female dependant, and the boy Tom ;—for these threes individuals were his companione—bat each bound, like himeelf, to a chair. “ What—how—when-———” stammered the bewil- dered picture-dealer, anzious to ask questions bat unable to find words to frame them. “ Silence!” exclaimed a sharp imperious female vaice close behind Mr. Shrubeole’s chair; and at the same inetans he felt something oold touch the back of his neck. Throwing his body forward as far as the cords weuld permit, he hastily turned his head end beheld a woman, with a black orape mask over her countée- nance and a pair of horse-pistols in her hands, evi-~ dently mounting guard upon the four prisoners. “ Hold your tengue—and no harm shal] happen to you, sir,” continued the woman. “ No robbery is intended—and it will be your fault if violence ox bleodshed should ensue. Raise but your voice one note higher than you have already spoken, and I will eénd a bullet through your head without an instant’s hesitation.” And again she placed the cold mussale of a pistol behind his ear: for this woman appeared to play with the murderous weapons as if they had been familiar toys from her very birth “In fact, the shortest plan and the best,” she con- tinued, “isnot tospeak at all. This I have recom- mended to your three fellow-prisoners; and they are wisely following my counsel.” “Think not, woman,” obsérved the young artist, irritated by this observation, “that my silence is occasioned by fear of you or your pistals. Bat, bound as I am to the chair, you may well suppose that I have little inclination to open my lips in discourse.” “J will give you credit, sir, for any motive you este een _, COMGLOO S COMM