The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 286: what you’re looking at

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272 THE MYSTERIES OF THE COURT. fore resolved to beat a precipitate retreat: and closing the book, he siole forth from the room— shut the door behind him—re-locked it by mcans of the skeleton-key which had ere now opened it— and then crept stealthily down-stairs into the break- fast-parlour. Fortunate indeed was it that he took this step just at the moment: for scarcely had he seated himself in the parlour, when Dame Margery made her appearance. ‘Mr. Sampson,” she said, * has this moment sent up from Bow Street, to inform me that he shall not be home to dinner, and indeed that I must not expect to see him before the evening, as some pressing business has transpired to demand his immediate attention elsewhere.” “Oh! very well, ma’am,” said Daniel Coffin, in- wardly rejoicing to think that he had not been surprised by the old dame up in her master’s pri- vate room. “Then I needn’t wait avy longer— and so I’ll call another day.” * Who shall I say has been?” inquired the housekeeper. The Hangman hesitated a moment whether he should give his name: but immediately recollect- ing that the woman need only describe his personal appearance in order to make her master under- staid who tle visitor was, he said boldly, “ Mr. Dan’el Coffin of Fieet Lane.” “Ah!” she ejaculated, her looks filling with evi- dent disgust and horror as the mention of that name, suriking upon her ear like a pestilence upon the entire frame, revealed to her the fact that she stood in the presence of the public executioner. “Good morning—good morning,” she hurriedly observed, as she flew to open the frent door with an undisgu'sed longing for the departure of so un- welcome a visitant, “ Good morning, ma'am,” said Coffin, not choos- ing to take any notice of her altered manner: and he issued from the house. CHAPTER LXXII. TILE CONSULTATION. Ir was between eight and nine o’clock in the even- ing of the same day, that the Hangman knocked at the dovr of Bencull’s dark crib in Mill Street, Jacob’s Island. He was no longer apparelled in his Sunday’s best—having put off his gala-garb on his recurn home from Larry Sampson’s house; avd he was now attired in his usual coarse and ruffian- looking style. ** Who's there ?” demanded the well-known voice of Benculi from within. “Mr. Dan’el Coffin,” was the answer, accompa- nied by a peculiar whistle. “All right!” said Bencull: and the next mo- ment the door was opened. “Anybody here yet?” demanded the Hangman, as he entered the passage of that ominous-looking house. “ No—nobody yet,” replied Bencull, as he closed and bolted the street door. “So much the better,” observed Coffin: “ be- cause I want to speak to you very particular in- deed.” The two men proceeded into the back room PI i es which has been described in a pr¢vious chapter: liquor and pipes were produced;—and when the glasses were filled and the blue wreaths of the tobacco-smoke were curling upward, Bencull said, ‘© Now, old fellow, what is it ?” “ Well, my worthy friend,” responded the Hang- man, looking moodily solemn and savagely serious as he spoke,—“ I’ve made a discovery to-day that regards me—you—everybody pretty nearly that we know—and thousands of folk besides.” “What the devil do you mean, Dan’el ?” ex- claimed the Jandlord of the dark crib, taking his pipe from his mouth and gazing with mingled astonishment and alarm upon his companion. “ Why, I mean that there’s aman in existence,” replied Coffin, “who for years past has been spread- ing out a great web until he has covered the whole of London with the invisible meshes. And in the middle of this web does he sit like a sharp cunning spider; while hundreds of flies are getting en- tangled in it without knowing it, as one may say— so that this great spider has got nothing to do but to come forth at any moment and seize upon any one of the flies that it fancies for its own precious picking. Or else maybe it will bide its time and pounce upon half-a-dozen or a dozen at a time, and of course make a terrible smash of them all.” “I say, Dan’el, I can patter flash as well as any cross-cove going,” observed Beneull: “but, by jingo, if I can understand a single word of all this gibberish that you’ve been jabbering! Come now, let’s have a bit of English: ’ecos why, all that there is Greek to me.” *T can deuced soon explain myself,’’ rejoined the Hangman. ‘ Only fancy that Larry Sampson is this precious great spider, and that all the cross- coves, macers, mae’smen, prigs, and cracksmen in London are the flies. Mow do you understand me ?” “YT begin to do so,” answered Bencull; “but only just as a feller has a wacant idea of what he’s about just when he’s getting sober after a deuced good booze.” “Then listen,” said the Hangman. “ Larry Sampson has got a thundering big book, divided into three parts. In the first part he puts down the names of all people that the law looks with a suspicious eye upon; and I need hardly tell you that your name and mine ain’t omitted. In the second division of the book, there’s a list of all the flash cribs, fence-shops, and travellers’ houses* in London; and again I need hardly say that your establishment isn’t forgotten. But what’s more, every soul frequenting it is also put down in Larry's book: so there’s me to begin with—then Jeremy Humpage—next the Swag Chovey Bloak—thean Bob the Durrynacker—the Mushroom Faker—the Highflyer of Fakements—the Buttoner—Nell Gib- son—and in fart all the select company that honour Mr. Bencull’s house with their presence.” “ Well, I’m not over and above surprised to hear this,” observed the landlord of the dark crib. “Of course, Larry Sampson knows all these things: his spies are everywhere m “Wait a moment, old fellow,” exclaimed Coffin, “and just hear what the third part of this great book says. It’s a sort of narrative or journa! of all Larry’s proceedings, adventures, and enter- —_—=— * The low lodging houses are thas called, o_o _—~ GOMIGoIOOKs