The Gift of the Sailor: The String of Pearls & Sweeney Todd, the Demon Barber of Fleet Street — page 197: what you’re looking at

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

“That’s right. Good day.” “When shall we see you, Sir Richard?” “About sunset.” By the time this little conversation was over, Sir Richard Blunt and Crotchet had got through Temple Bar, and then they parted, Crotchet taking his way back to Fleet Street, and Sir Richard Blunt walking hastily to Downing Street. When he got there he entered the official residence of the Secretary of State for the Home Department,®* and being well known to the clerk, he was at once conducted into a little room carefully hung round with crimson cloth, so as to deaden the sound of any voices that might be raised in it. In the course of a few minutes a small door was opened, and a shabby looking man entered, with a hesitating expression upon his face. “Ah, Sir Richard Blunt,” he said, “is that you?” “Yes, your lordship, and if you are disengaged for a few minutes, I have something to communicate.” “Ah, some new plot. Confound those Jacobin® rascals!” “No, my lord, the affair is quite domestic and social. It has no shade of politics about it.” The look of interest which the face of the secretary had assumed was gone in a moment, but still he could not very well refuse now to hear what Sir Richard Blunt had to say, and the conference lasted a quarter of an hour. At its termination, as Sir Richard was leaving the room, the secretary said— “Oh, yes, of course, take full discretionary powers, and the Home-office will pay all expenses. I never heard of such a thing in all my life.” “Nor I, my lord.” “Tt’s really horrible.” “Tt is even so far as we know already, and yet I think there is much to learn. I shall, of course, communicate to your lordship anything that transpires.” “Certainly—certainly. Good day.” Sir Richard Blunt left the Secretary of State, and proceeded to his own residence, and while he is there, making some alteration in his dress, we may as well take a glance at Crotchet, and see what that energetic but somewhat eccentric individual is about. After parting with Sir Richard Blunt at Temple Bar, he walked up Fleet Street, upon Sweeney Todd’s side of the way, until he overtook a man with a pair of spectacles on, and a stoop in his gait, as though age had crept upon him. “King,” said Crotchet. “All right,” said the spectacled old gentleman in a firm voice. “What’s the news?” “A long job, I think. Where’s Morgan?” “On the other side of the way.” “Well, just listen to me as we walk along, and if you see him, beckon him over to us.” As they walked along Crotchet told King what were the orders of Sir Richard Blunt, and they were soon joined by Morgan. The other officer, Godfrey, who had been mentioned by the magistrate, was sent for. “Now,” said Crotchet, “here we are, four of us, and so you see we can take it two and two for four hours at a stretch as long as this confounded barber’s shop keeps open.” “But,” said Morgan, “he will suspect something.” “Well, we can’t help that. It’s quite clear he smugs the people, and all we have got to do is to prevent him smugging any more of *em you see.” “Well, well, we must do the best we can.” “Exactly; so now keep a bright look out, and hang it all, we have been in enough rum adventures to be able to get the better of a rascally barber, I should think. Look out—look out; there’s somebody going in now.” QOOQOHOOOOO CORniclooo S CO)