The Gift of the Sailor: The String of Pearls & Sweeney Todd, the Demon Barber of Fleet Street — page 330: what you’re looking at

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

“You are quite right, Sir Richard. Even I shall feel it to be no offence if you keep entirely to yourself what you have seen.” “No, no! I wish to avail myself of your advice, which has done me good service upon more than one occasion; so when we get to your house, we will talk the matter fully over.” By this time they had got so far from the immediate vicinity of Todd’s house, that such excessive caution in conversing was no longer necessary, and the magistrate pausing, made a general remark to all. “The less that is said about what we have seen here, the better it will be. Let me beg of every one not to give the smallest hint to any one, even in the most confidential manner, of the discoveries that have been made here to-day.” An immediate assent was of course given to this proposition, and in the course of five minutes they were all in St. Dunstan’s church. It was something amusing to Sir Richard, at that moment, to notice the look of relief there was upon every countenance, now that the investigation into that underground and unknown region was over. Each person seemed as if he had just escaped from the toils and hazards of a battle. By a glance at his watch, Sir Richard ascertained that only one hour and a quarter had been consumed in the whole affair, and he was pleased to think how soon again he should be personally superintending the safety of Johanna. Before, however, the party got half way to the door of the church, they heard a vociferous argumentation going on in that quarter, and the voice of the beadle, who was well known to Sir Richard, was heard exclaiming— “T will come in. I’m the beadle. Fire! Fire! I will come in. What! keep a beadle out of his own church? Oh! Oh! Oh! Conwulsions— conwulsions! It ain’t possible.” “Gentlemen,” said the magistrate, “we must repress our friend the beadle’s curiosity. Let us all say ‘Hush’ to him as we go out, and not another word.” This was generally understood, and they walked slowly in a kind of procession to the church door. “Pitchforks and hatchets!” cried the beadle. “I will come in. Dust to dust, and ashes to ashes. Look at my hat and coat; I ain’t a himposter, but a real beetle! Bless us, who is here? Why—why, there ain’t no service nor a wedding. What a lot of folks. Have they been a-grabbing of the Communion plate? Oh, murder, conwulsions, and thieves!” Sir Richard went close up to him, and in the most mysterious way in the world, whispered in his ear “Hush.” “Eh?” said the beadle. Sir Christopher took hold of him by the collar of the coat, and said—“Hush.” “Well, but—but = The fruiterer beckoned to him with great gravity, and when he come forward a pace or two, said—“Hush.” “But good gracious what am I to hush about? What is it all—what does it mean—tell us, for goodness gracious sake? I don’t know anything; I’m an ass—an idiot. What am I to hush about—I shall sit upon no end of thorns and nettles, till I know.—What is it?” “Hush! hush! hush!” said every one as he passed the now nearly distracted beadle, and finally there he was left in the church porch with nothing in the shape of information, but hush! The man who had been left by the magistrate as a sentinel at the church door, was the last to leave, and he took his cue from all the others; and when the beadle laid hold of him crying—‘“T’ll take you up. I won’t let you go,” he gently sat him on the floor; and then saying “Hush!” away he went likewise. The large slab in the church, that usually covered up the passage leading to the vaults, was left uncovered; but then the beadle perfectly understood that that was for the sole purpose of relieving the vaults, during the week, of the accumulation of mephitic® vapours supposed to be in them; and at all events no impulse of curiosity could be sufficiently strong in him to induce so desperate a step as a descent alone into those dreary abodes of the departed; so that he was, in a manner of speaking, compelled to put up entirely with “Hush!” for his portion of the mystery. Sir Richard bade good-day to every one but the fruiterer at the door of the church; and then with him he walked to his shop opposite to Todd’s. Crotchet was close at hand, and he came into the shop, at a signal from the magistrate to do so. “Ts all right, Crotchet?” “Right as a trivet, sir. Lord bless you, about so much as a sneeze, but I’ Il find it out; and as for little Miss Thingamybob, he shan’t hurt a hair of her pretty little bit of a head.” “That’s right, Crotchet. Remember that the bringing to justice, with ample evidence of all his crimes, of Sweeney Todd, is a great object; but it is an infinitely greater one to preserve the life of Johanna Oakley.” “T knows it,” said Crotchet. “Resume your charge, then; Crotchet. All will be well, and this will be Todd’s last day out of Newgate.” Crotchet nodded, and made his exit. In the succeeding half hour, it would seem that Sir Richard Blunt made his old acquaintance, the fruiterer, thoroughly acquainted with all he knew of the way in which Todd got rid of his victims. What that way was will very shortly now appear; and we think it had better appear in this regular and most authentic narrative, than in a chance conversation between Sir Richard Blunt and his friend. It was the special duty of one officer to come into the fruiterer’s shop with a report and a description of whoever went into Todd’s house, and now this man made his appearance. “Well, Jervis,” said the magistrate, “so Todd has a customer, has he?” “T don’t know, sir. It is a woman, well dressed, and rather tall than otherwise.” “Mrs. Lovett, without a doubt. No one need go and look after that lady, for I don’t know any one, except you or I, Jervis, who is so capable as taking care of number one. Todd will find her a troublesome customer, and if she is at all the woman I take her to be, she will not go into his back parlour quite so easily as he would fain persuade her.” CORniclooo S CO)