The Mysteries of London; or, Lights and Shadows of London Life — page 31: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

al ae Ye —_ —— ~ . “ Well, that’s true,” rejoined the coiner, “and I know you couldn’t have come to a better shop for ee ae Finer work never left the die than that I have turned out for you; but when is the stuff to be got ready ?” “In a week from this time,” answered the stranger. And where is it to be brought?” asked Saunders; “for you know it will make a heavy package, and it ain’t the sort of thing that one would like to find a blue-bottle buzzing about.” “Let me see,” mused the unknown; “it must be moved away from here by daylight, or suspicions will be roused. I have it!—the very place,” he con- tinued, after a slight pause of consideration, and then added, inquiringly, “You will have the coins in a box, tightly corded, and your messenger will have the will he not?” “ To be sure he will, as, for both our sakes, I intend to be myself the carrier,” said Saunders. “So much the better; bring the box, then, to the Soon and Castle at dusk—which it will be by the time you get you will find me, as the clock strikés nifie, in readiness to receive it.” “Good; and the parcel is to be brought——” “ This night week.” “1 Shall be ready,” replied the coiner; and he was about to again apologise for the roughness of his when the utterance of feeble groans, and the of & person moving in the next apartment, oniient the attention of both. They listened as if by mutual consent, and as yet almost doubtful of the reality of that which had startled them; but the faint movements were re- newed; the half-uttered cry repeated, and the vague belief became then certainty. Snatching the light off the table, and hastening to thé next room, the coiner, followed by the man called the ** Phantom,” found stretched upon the ground, half awakened from his drug-engendered lethargy, the victim of the narcotic which Gubbins had adminis- tered. His stupefaction was still, however, so complete as to render him unconscious of what was passing ; and his head, turned towards the floor, was resting heavily and drowsily on his arm. “My life for it!” exclaimed the coiner, with an oath, “ this is some of that infernal Jim’s handiwork ; I know, ore of thésé days, he’ll bring us into trouble through his confounded mischief. He’s 4 country- man, I see, and has béen well cleared out, too,” he observéd, crit? ising the inverted pockets of the shina berer, whose S0mnolency was deep and profound; “but we must get him away from here, or he will kfow rather more when he wakes than I care about.” down to raise the senseless form of the youth on to his 6wn brawny shoulders, the coiner had brought by this action the face of the sleeper into the full glare of the light; and no sooner had this altera- tion of positiéi been effectéd than a sudden éxclaiiia- tion of surprise burst from the lips of the stranger. “ How is this? Do you know him?” interrogated Saunders, noticing that this revelation of the slum- berer’s countenance had produced a sympathetic in that of the looker-on. a pen ejaculated the “ Phantom,” with some of embarrassment, “that is, I am acquainted with his family.” “ Hal that’s fortunate,” réturned the coiner, “since you can now take care of him. He will be all right a couple of hours hence. I saw what was thé matter with him at a glance.” This is our second meeting,” muttered the un- ene ee —— LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF LONDON LIFE. = -_- -_ ener known to himself, gazing abstractedly on the faee of Thornton, “ and it is as strange as was the first, The likeness is indeed wonderful.” “You seem rather struck with the idea of finding him in this crib,” remarked Saunders, misunderstand- ing the source of his companion’s fixed attention, “but as it’s growing late it would be as well to con- sider what’s. to be done with him, for it will be some time yet before he can walk.” ‘* His road and mine partly lie together,” answered the stranger, “and I will see him safe—at least from further harm. We can get a cab at the end of the street, and as soon as he has recovered sufficiently to walk that distance we will depart.” - “ Then I'll find a little amusement whilst you wait,” said the coiner, producing a glass and a bottle of spirits from an adjoining cupboard ; “ in half an hour, if he don’t know what he’s about, you'll be yet able to set him firm on his legs, and that will be some hélp towards getting him hemeward.” With this determination to employ thé intervening time, the two began to appropriate the contents of the coiner’s_spirit-case, which | was kept tolerably we supplied. Gubbins and . was. supposed, with ith way in ih which Seundets bad had thwarted them, had retired to & pablic- boas adlag*nb. and the manufacturer of spurious coifi, and his mysterious customer, had gpa the ee eee to themselves. The conversation th em it is unnecessary to detail. he ae aot dwelt chi y on the events of his past life, ahd the strange carefully avoided any referénce to the antecedents of his 6wn. As soon as Thornton, therefore, a by signs of repaayng animation, he was taken by the unknown away from the vile neighbeurhood into which he had been entrapped, and the casual accom. modation afforded by a returning cabriolet, restored him about an hour afterwards, andét the samié éscort, to his own home. The next morning Thoraton had but a confused recollection of what had passed. The banéful effects of the drugged liquor had left a feverish headache be- hind, and the memory, as if it still laboured under its stupefying influence, failed to render a clear account of what had transpired, He had indistinct remembrances floating mistily throngh his mind of the proffered glass, the fear of ridicalle that had urged him to drink, the insensibility that had followed, and then, a8 in a dream, the hum 6f voices in < Verba tion; the rattling progress of the vehiclé that had rhe him to his own door, the fresh air'that had re- invigorated his frame and recalled hie scattered senses, the alarmed appearance of his sister who, throtigh that weary hight, had been anxious aWwait- ing his feturn, and the whirl of thoughts thaged which had encom him as he sank int repose, ut through all and so infusing itself into eer heldent of that memorable night as to be thsepar rom éach, theré was the recollection of thit pos tite ace that had glared pon him in the reflection of the irror, and which, as a dimly-shadowed oni oy sen of oi fainiliar to him in Years one had felt a8 if destined to Exercise a el tathate inflwerice over his destiny, Vagiie and undefined though his ideas wété, he yét could almost fanc those well-reccgnised featiired had been again brought beforé him, haunting him in the visionary hotirs he had petit, and bendibg down upon bith those éyes of snake-like fascination, until he recoiled from their gaze with a thrill of shuddering horror. oe this 23 been t 80, or Was a nightmare of elcys4) el oeve) CG ee a ee