The Gift of the Sailor: The String of Pearls & Sweeney Todd, the Demon Barber of Fleet Street — page 155: what you’re looking at

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

“Sixteen as never was,” replied Mrs. Ragg, “and a hard time I had of it, sir, as you may suppose.” The surgeon did not exactly see how he was called upon to suppose anything of the sort; however he made no further remark to Mrs. Ragg, but continued in conversation for some time with Colonel Jeffery, who informed him that Tobias should remain for a time where he was, so that there should be every possible chance given for his recovery. “T wish you to continue attending upon him, sir,” he added, “for I would spare nothing that medical advice can suggest to restore him. He has, I am convinced, been a great sufferer.” “That is sufficiently clear, sir. You may rely upon my utmost attention.” “Mrs. Ragg,” said the colonel, “can you cook?” “Cook, sir? Lord bless you, sir. I can cook as well as here and there a one, though I say it that oughtn’t, and if poor Tobias was but all right, I should not go to be after making myself miserable now about bygones. What’s to be cured must be endured—it’s a long lane as hasn’t a turning. As poor Mr. Ragg often used to say when he was alive—‘Grizzling® ain’t fattening.’” “T should think it was not. It so happens, Mrs. Ragg, that there is a vacancy in my house for a cook, and if you like to come and take the place, you can look after Tobias as well, you know, for I intend him to remain here for the present. Only remember, you tell this to no one.” “Me, sir! Lord bless you, sir, who do I see?” The colonel was by no means anxious to convince himself a second time of the impossibility of bringing Mrs. Ragg to a precise answer, so he changed the subject, and it was finally arranged that without a word to any one upon the subject, that very night Mrs. Ragg was to take up her abode with Tobias. After this had been all arranged, the three gentlemen proceeded to the dining room, and held a consultation. “Of the guilt of Todd,” said the magistrate, “I entertain no doubt, but I own that I am extremely anxious to bring the crime legally home to him.” “Exactly,” said the colonel, “and I can only say that every plan you can suggest will be cheerfully acquiesced in by me and my friend here.” The captain signified his assent. “Be assured, gentlemen,” added Sir Richard Blunt, “that something shall be done of a decisive character before many days are past. I have seen the higher powers upon the subject, and have full authority, and you may rest satisfied that I shall not mind running a little personal risk to unravel the mysteries that surround the career of Sweeney Todd, I think one thing may be done conveniently.” “What is that, sir?” “Why, it seems to be pretty well understood that no one resides in Todd’s house but himself, and as now he has no boy—unless he has provided himself with one already—he must go out sometimes and leave the place to itself, and upon one of those occasions an opportunity might be found of thoroughly searching the upper part, at all events, of his house.” “Could that be done with safety?” “T think so. At all events, I feel inclined to try it. If I do go, and make any discovery, you may depend upon my letting you know without an hour’s delay, and I sincerely hope that all that will take place may have the effect of setting your mind at rest regarding your friend, Mr. Ingestrie.” “But not of restoring him to us?” The magistrate shook his head. “T think, sir,” he said, “that you ought to consider that he has, if any one has, fallen a victim to Sweeney Todd.” “Alas! I fear so.” “All the evidence points that way, and we can only take measures in the best way possible to bring his murderer to justice—that that murderer is Sweeney Todd, I cannot for one moment of time bring myself to doubt.” Sir Richard Blunt shortly afterwards left Colonel Jeffery’s house and proceeded to the execution of a plan of proceeding, with the particulars of which he had not thought proper to entrust to the colonel, and his friend the captain. Long habits of caution had led the magistrate—who was not one of the fancy magistrates of the present day, but a real police officer—active, cool, and determined—to trust no one but himself with his secrets, and so he kept to himself what he meant to do that night. When he was gone, Colonel Jeffery had a long talk with his friend, and the subject gradually turned to Johanna, whom the colonel yet hoped, he said, to be able one day to call his own. “No one,” he remarked, “would be more truly rejoiced than I to restore Mark Ingestrie to her whom he loves, and whose affection for him is of so enduring and remarkable a character, but if, as Sir Richard Blunt supposes, he is really no more, I think Johanna, by being mine, would stand a better chance of recovering her serenity, if not of enjoying all the happiness in this world that she deserves.” “Hope for the best,” said the captain, “and recollect what the surgeon said as regarded Tobias, that time works wonders.” Q9ODOOOOOO CORniclooo S CO)