The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 349: what you’re looking at

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

318 REYNOLDS’ WORKS “You fool, you!’’ muttered his wife, clutching him violently by the arm, and giving him a savage shake; “ you’ll make yourself heard yet before you have done.” It must be observed that Barney the Burker had not let the corpse fall through any access of panic-terror, but merely that he might rush up-stairs and ascertain the cause of that strange sweeping sound which had reached the ears of those in the scullery. But on opening the door and listen- ing, he found that all was still. ‘Give me a light,’ he said, ‘‘ and I’ll go over the house just for your saytisfaction; ’cos why, none of you seem able to do it for yourselves.”’ A candle was immediately supplied him by one of the lads, and the instant he appeared in the ground-floor passage with that light, the rushing sound was heard again, and an enormous cat which had been crouching on the mat sprang up the stairs to the higher stories. The Burker gave a chuck- ling laugh, and descending to the scullery, closed the door, saying, ‘‘ It’s on’y a great big black cat that’s got into the house.” ‘It’s the people’s at the beer shop,’ exclaimed Bab Smedley. ‘But isn’t it strange,’’ asked the gold-beater, who was shuddering all over, ‘‘ that the brute should cut about the house like that? Doesn’t it seem as if it knew what had been done? ”’ and with his haggard eyes he glanced toward the mouth of the vault. ‘‘ Well, I des say there’s summut like instink in the affair,” said the Burker, coolly, ‘‘ but as cats can’t speak, they can’t tell no tales, and so we needn’t bother ourselves any more about the matter. Come, Jack, take a drop of brandy, and don’t make such a fool of yourself as you seem to be doing. Why, I can’t make out what’s come over you all on a sudden, that you have got so precious chicken-hearted. It isn’t a wery good example you’re setting them lads. Where’s the quicklime? ”’ ‘‘ All ready down below,”’ responded Bab Smedley; then addressing herself to her husband, she said, savagely, “ ‘There, toss off that brandy, and bea man. I’m ashamed of you.”’ The gold-beater drank the raw spirit which his wife handed him, and his courage speedily revived again. ‘“‘Come now, my boys, and lend a hand below,’’ said the ’ CORNICLOOKS (E©)