The Gift of the Sailor: The String of Pearls & Sweeney Todd, the Demon Barber of Fleet Street — page 194: what you’re looking at

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

the discourse go on without paying the least attention to it. He was quietly waiting for the foul vapours that arose from the vaults beneath the church to dissipate a little before he ventured upon exploring them. Now, however, he advanced and spoke. “Gentlemen, I hope I shall be able to rid St. Dunstan’s of the stench which for a long time has given it so unenviable a reputation.” “Tf you can do that,” said the churchwarden, “you will delight the whole parish. It has been a puzzle to us all where the stench could come from.” “Where is the puzzle now?” said Sir Richard Blunt, as he pointed to the opening in the floor of the church, from whence issued like a steamy vapour such horrible exhalations. “Why, certainly it must come from the vaults?” “But,” said the overseer, “the parish books show that there has not been any one buried in any of the vaults directly beneath the church for thirty years.” “Then,” said the beadle, “it’s a very wrong thing of respectable parishioners—for, of course, them as has waults is respectable—to keep quiet for thirty years and then begin stinking like blazes. It’s uncommon wrong—conwulsions!” Sir Richard Blunt took a paper from his pocket and unfolded it. “From this plan,” he said, “that I have procured of the vaults of St. Dunstan’s, it appears that the stone we have raised, and which was numbered thirty, discloses a stone staircase communicating with two passages, from which all the vaults can be reached. I propose searching them; and now, gentlemen, and you, Mr. Beadle, listen to me.” They all three looked at him with surprise as he took another letter from his pocket. “Here,” he said, “are a few words from the Secretary of State.® Pray read them, Mr. Vickley.” The overseer read as follows— “The Secretary of State presents his compliments to Sir Richard Blunt, and begs to say that as regards the affair at St. Dunstan’s, Sir Richard is to consider himself armed with any extraordinary powers he may consider necessary.” “Now, gentlemen,” added Sir Richard Blunt, “if you will descend with me into the vaults, all I require of you is the most profound secrecy with regard to what you may see there. Do you fully understand?” “Yes,” stammered Mr. Vickley, “but I rather think I—I would as soon not go.” “Then, sir, be silent regarding the going of others. Will you go, sir?” to the churchwarden. “Why yes, I—I think I ought.” “T shall be obliged to go, I may feel the want of a witness. We will take you with us, Mr. Beadle, of course.” “Me—me? Conwulsions!” “Yes—yes. You go, you know, ex officio.” * “Ex, the deuce, I don’t want to go. Oh conwulsions! conwulsions!” “We cannot dispense with your services,” said the churchwarden. “If you refuse to go, it will be my duty to lay your conduct before the vestry.” “Oh—oh—oh!” “Get a torch,” said Sir Richard Blunt, “and I will lower it down the opening in the floor. If the air is not so bad as to extinguish the light, it will not be too bad for us to breathe for a short space of time.” Most reluctantly, and with terrible misgivings of what might be the result of the frightful adventure into which he was about to be dragged, the beadle fetched a lamp from the vestry. It was lighted, and Sir Richard Blunt tying a string to it, let it down into the passage beneath the church. The light was not extinguished, but it burnt feebly and with but a wan and sickly lustre. “Tt will do,” said Sir Richard. “We can live in that place, although a protracted stay might be fatal. Follow me, I will go first, and I hope we shall not have our trouble only for our pains.” Q9ODO0GOOO CORniclooo S CO)