The Gift of the Sailor: The String of Pearls & Sweeney Todd, the Demon Barber of Fleet Street — page 104: what you’re looking at

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

“What do you advise, Crotchet? I know I can trust to your sagacity in such a case.” “Why, your worship, I’ll think it over a bit in the course of the day, and let your worship know what I think. It’s a awkward job rather, for a wariety of reasons, but howsomdever® there’s always a something to be done, and if we don’t do it, I’ll be hung if I know who can, that’s all!” “True, true, you are right there; and, perhaps, before you see me again, you will walk down Fleet Street, and see if you can make any observations that will be of advantage in the matter. It is an affair which requires great caution indeed.” “Trust me, yer worship: I’Il do it, and no mistake. Lor’ bless you, it’s easy for anybody now to go lounging about Fleet Street, without being taken much notice of; for the fact is, the whole place is agog®* about the horrid smell as has been for never so long in the old church of St. Dunstan.” “Smell—smell—in St. Dunstan’s church! I never heard of that before, Crotchet.” “Oh, Lor’ yes, it’s enough to pison the devil himself, Sir Richard; and t’other day when the blessed bishop went to ’firm a lot of people, he as good as told ’em they might all be damned first, afore he ’firm nobody in such a place.” The magistrate was in a deep thought for a few minutes, and then he said suddenly— “Well, well, Crotchet, you turn the matter over in your mind and see what you can make of it; I will think it over likewise. Do you hear?—mind you are with me at six this evening punctually; I do not intend to let the matter rest, and you may depend, that from this moment I will give it my greatest attention.” “Werry good, yer worship; werry good indeed; I’ll be here, and something seems to strike me uncommon forcible that we shall unearth this fox very soon, yer worship.” “T sincerely hope so.” Mr. Crotchet took his leave, and when he was alone the magistrate rose and paced his apartment for some time with rapid strides, as if he was much agitated by the reflections that were passing through his mind. At length he flung himself into a chair with something like a groan, as he said— “A horrible idea forces itself upon my consideration—most horrible! most horrible! most horrible! Well, well, we shall see—we shall see. It may not be so: and yet what a hideous probability stares me in the face! I will go down at once to St. Dunstan’s and see what they are really about. Yes, yes, I shall not get much sleep I think now, until some of these mysteries are developed. A most horrible idea, truly!” The magistrate left some directions at home concerning some business calls which he fully expected in the course of the next two hours, and then he put on a plain, sad-coloured cloak and a hat destitute of all ornament, and left his house with a rapid step. He took the most direct route towards St. Dunstan’s church, and finding the door of the sacred edifice yielded to the touch, he at once entered it; but he had not advanced many steps before he was met and accosted by the beadle, who said, in a tone of great dignity and authority— “This ain’t Sunday, sir; there ain’t no service here to-day.” “T don’t suppose there is,” replied the magistrate; “but I see you have workmen here. What is it you are about?” “Well, of all the impudence that ever I came near, this is the worstest—to ask a beadle what he is about; I beg to say, sir, this is quite private, and there’s the door.” “Yes, I see it, and you may go out at it just as soon as you think proper.” “Oh, conwulsions! oh, conwulsions! This to a beadle.” “What is all this about?” said a gentlemanly-looking man, stepping forward from a part of the church where several masons were employed in raising some of the huge flag-stones® with which it was paved. “What disturbance is this?” “T believe, Mr. Antrobus, you know me,” said the magistrate. “Oh, Sir Richard, certainly. How do you do?” “Gracious,” said the beadle, “I’ve put my blessed foot in it. Lor’ bless us, sir, how should I know as you was Sir Richard? I begs as you won’t think nothing 0’ what I said. If I had a knowed you, in course I shouldn’t have said it, you may depend, Sir Richard—I humbly begs your pardon.” “Tt’s of no consequence—I ought to have announced myself; and you are perfectly justified in keeping strangers out of the church, my friend.” The magistrate walked up the aisle with Mr. Antrobus, who was one of the churchwardens; and as he did so, he said, in a low, confidential tone of voice— “T have heard some strange reports about a terrible stench in the church. What does it mean? I suppose you know all about it, and what it arises from?” “Indeed I do not. If you have heard that there is a horrible smell in the church after it has been shut up for some time, and upon the least change in the weather, from dry or wet, or cold or warm, you know as much as we know upon the subject. It is a most serious nuisance, and, in fact, my presence here to day is to try and make some discovery of the cause of the stench; and you see we are going to work our way into some of the old vaults that have not been opened for some time, with a hope of finding out the cause of this disagreeable odour.” “Have you any objection to my being a spectator?” “None in the least.” “T thank you. Let us now join the workmen, and I can only now tell you that I feel the strongest possible curiosity to ascertain what can be the meaning of all this, and shall watch the proceedings with the greatest amount of interest.” “Come along then; I can only say, for my part, that, as an individual, I am glad you are here, and as a magistrate, likewise, it gives me great satisfaction to have you.” CORniclooo S CO)