The Mysteries of London Volume 1

by Reynolds, George W. M.

  By means of a candle which had been lighted by the aid of a lucifer-match, and which stood upon a dirty deal table, the young stranger beheld two men, whose outward appearance did not serve to banish his alarm. They were dressed like operatives of the most humble class. One wore a gabardine and coarse leather gaiters, with laced-up boots; the other had on a fustian shooting-jacket and long corduroy trousers. They were both dirty and unshaven. The one with the shooting-jacket had a profusion of hair about his face, but which was evidently not well acquainted with a comb: the other wore no whiskers, but his beard was of three or four days’ growth. Both were powerful, thick-set, and muscular men; and the expression of their countenances was dogged, determined, and ferocious.

  The room to which they had betaken themselves was cold, gloomy, and dilapidated. It was furnished with the deal table before mentioned, and three old crazy chairs, upon two of which the men now seated themselves. But they were so placed that they commanded, their door being open, a full view of the landing-place; and thus the youthful stranger deemed it impolitic to attempt to take his departure for the moment.

  “Now, Bill, out with the bingo,” said the man in the gabardine to his companion.

  “Oh! you’re always for the lush, you are, Dick,” answered the latter in a surly tone, producing at the same time a bottle of liquor from the capacious pocket of his fustian coat. “But I wonder how the devil it is that Crankey Jem ain’t come yet. Who the deuce could have left that infernal door open?”

  “Jem or some of the other blades must have been here and left it so. It don’t matter; it lulls suspicion.”

  “Well, let’s make the reglars all square,” resumed the man called Bill, after a moment’s pause; “we’ll then booze a bit, and talk over this here new job of our’n.”

  “Look alive, then,” said Dick; and he forthwith took from beneath his gabardine several small parcels done up in brown paper.

  The other man likewise divested the pockets of his fustian coat of divers packages; and all these were piled upon the table.

  A strange and mysterious proceeding then took place.

  The person in the fustian coat approached the chimney, and applied a small turnscrew, which he took from his pocket, to a screw in the iron frame-work of the rusty grate. In a few moments he was enabled to remove the entire grate with his hands; a square aperture of considerable dimensions was then revealed. Into this place the two men thrust the parcels which they had taken from their pockets: the grate was replaced, the screws were fastened once more, and the work of concealment was complete.

  The one in the gabardine then advanced towards that portion of the wall which was between the two windows; and the youth in the adjoining room now observed for the first time that the shutters of those windows were closed, and that coarse brown paper had been pasted all over the chinks and joints. Dick applied his hand in a peculiar manner to the part of the wall just alluded to, and a sliding panel immediately revealed a capacious cupboard. Thence the two men took food of by no means a coarse description, glasses, pipes, and tobacco; and, having hermetically closed the recess once more, seated themselves at the table to partake of the good cheer thus mysteriously supplied.

  The alarm of the poor youth in the next chamber, as he contemplated these extraordinary proceedings, may be better conceived than depicted. His common sense told him that he was in the den of lawless thieves—perhaps murderers; in a house abounding with the secret means of concealing every kind of infamy. His eyes wandered away from the little window that had enabled him to observe the above-described proceedings, and glanced fearfully around the room in which he was concealed. He almost expected to see the very floor open beneath his feet. He looked down mechanically as this idea flitted through his imagination; and to his horror and dismay he beheld a trap-door in the floor. There was no mistaking it: there it was—about three feet long and two broad, and a little sunken beneath the level of its frame-work.

  Near the edge of the trap-door lay an object which also attracted the youth’s attention and added to his fears. It was a knife with a long blade pointed like a dagger. About three inches of this blade was covered with a peculiar rust: the youth shuddered; could it be human blood that had stained that instrument of death?

  Every circumstance, however trivial, aided, in such a place as that, to arouse or confirm the worst fears, the most horrible suspicions.[6]

  The voices of the two men in the next room fell upon the youth’s ear; and, perceiving that escape was still impracticable, he determined to gratify that curiosity which was commingled with his fears.

  “Well, now, about this t’other job, Dick?” said Bill.

  “It’s Jem as started it,” was the reply. “But he told me all about it, and so we may as well talk it over. It’s up Islington way—up there between Kentish Town and Lower Holloway.”

  “Who’s crib is it?”

  “A swell of the name of Markham. He is an old fellow, and has two sons. One, the eldest, is with his regiment; t’other, the youngest, is only about fifteen, or so—a mere kid.”

  “Well, there’s no danger to be expected from him. But what about the flunkies?”

  “Only two man-servants and three wimen. One of the man-servants is the old butler, too fat to do any good; and t’other is a young tiger.”[7]

  “And that’s all?”

  “That’s all. Now you, and I, and Jem is quite enough to crack that there crib. When is it to be done?”

  “Let’s say to-morrow night; there is no moon now to speak on, and business in other quarters is slack.”

  “So be it. Here goes, then, to the success of our new job at old Markham’s;” and as the burglar uttered these words he tossed off a bumper of brandy.

  This example was followed by his worthy companion; and their conversation then turned upon other topics.

  “I say, Bill, this old house has seen some jolly games, han’t it?”

  “I should think it had too. It was Jonathan Wild’s favourite crib; and he was no fool at keeping things dark.”[8]

  “No, surely. I dare say the well-staircase in the next room there, that’s covered over with the trap-door, has had many a dead body flung down it into the Fleet.”

  “Ah!—and without telling no tales too. But the trap-door has been nailed over for some years now.”

  The unfortunate youth in the adjacent chamber was riveted in silent horror to the spot, as these fearful details fell upon his ears.

  “Why was the trap-door nailed down?”

  “Cos there’s no use for that now, since the house is uninhabited, and no more travellers come to lodge here. Besides, if we wanted to make use of such a conwenience, there’s another——”

  A loud clap of thunder prevented the remainder of this sentence from reaching the youth’s ears.

  “I’ve heard it said that the City is going to make great alterations in this quarter,” observed Dick, after a pause. “If so be they comes near us, we must shift our quarters.”

  “Well, and don’t we know other cribs as good as this—and just under the very nose of the authorities too? The nearer you gets to them the safer you finds yourself. Who’d think now that here, and in Peter-street, and on Saffron-hill[9] too, there was such cribs as this? Lord, how such coves as you and me does laugh when them chaps in the Common Council and the House of Commons gets on their legs and praises the blue-bottles up to the skies as the most acutest police in the world, while they wotes away the people’s money to maintain ’em!”

  “Oh! as for alterations, I don’t suppose there’ll be any for the next twenty years to come. They always talks of improvements long afore they begins ’em.”

  “But when they do commence, they won’t spare this lovely old crib! It ’ud go to my heart to see them pull it about. I’d much sooner take and shov
e a dozen stiff uns myself down the trap than see a single rafter of the place ill-treated—that I would.”

  “Ah! if so be as the masons does come to pull its old carcass about, there’ll be some fine things made known to the world. Them cellars down stairs, in which a man might hide for fifty years and never be smelt out by the police, will turn up a bone or two, I rather suspect; and not of a sheep, nor a pig, nor a bull neither.”

  “Why—half the silly folks in this neighbourhood are afeerd to come here even in the daytime, because they say it’s haunted,” observed Bill, after a brief pause. “But, for my part, I shouldn’t be frightened to come here at all hours of the night, and sit here alone too, even if every feller as was scragged at Tyburn or Newgate,[10] and every one wot has been tumbled down these holes into the Fleet, was to start up, and——”

  The man stopped short, turned ghastly pale, and fell back stupified and speechless in his chair. His pipe dropped from between his fingers, and broke to pieces upon the floor.

  “What the devil’s the matter now?” demanded his companion, casting an anxious glance around.

  “There! there! don’t you see ——,” gasped the terrified ruffian, pointing towards the little window looking into the next room.

  “It’s only some d——d gammon of Crankey Jim,” ejaculated Dick, who was more courageous in such matters than his companion. “I’ll deuced soon put that to rights!”

  Seizing the candle, he was hurrying towards the door, when his comrade rushed after him, crying, “No—I won’t be left in the dark! I can’t bear it! Damme, if you go, I’ll go with you!”

  The two villains accordingly proceeded together into the next room.

  CHAPTER III.

  THE TRAP-DOOR.

  THE youthful stranger had listened with ineffable surprise and horror to the conversation of the two ruffians. His nerves had been worked up by all the circumstances of the evening to a tone bordering upon madness—to that pitch, indeed, when it appeared as if there were no alternative left save to fall upon the floor and yield to the delirium tremens of violent emotions.

  He had restrained his feelings while he heard the burglary at Mr. Markham’s dwelling coolly planned and settled; but when the discourse of those two monsters in human shape developed to his imagination all the horrors of the fearful place in which he had sought an asylum,—when he heard that he was actually standing upon the very verge of that staircase down which innumerable victims had been hurled to the depths of the slimy ditch beneath,—and when he thought how probable it was that his bones were doomed to whiten in the dark and hidden caverns below, along with the remains of other human beings who had been barbarously murdered in cold blood,—reason appeared to forsake him. A cold sweat broke forth all over him; and he seemed about to faint under the oppression of a hideous nightmare.

  He threw his hat upon the floor—for he felt the want of air. That proud forehead, that beautiful countenance were distorted with indescribable horror; and an ashy pallor spread itself over his features.

  Death, in all its most hideous forms, appeared to follow—to surround—to hem him in. There was no escape—a trap-door here—a well, communicating with the ditch, there—or else the dagger;—no matter in what shape—still Death was before him—behind him—above him—below him—on every side of him.

  It was horrible—most horrible!

  Then was it that a sudden thought flashed across his brain: he resolved to attempt a desperate effort to escape. He summoned all his courage to his aid, and opened the door so cautiously that, though the hinges were old and rusted, they did not creak.

  The crisis was now at hand. If he could clear the landing unperceived, he was safe. It was true that, seen or unseen, he might succeed in escaping from the house by means of his superior agility and nimbleness; but he reflected that these men would capture him again, in a few minutes, in the midst of a labyrinth of streets with which he was utterly unacquainted, but which they knew so well. He remembered that he had overheard their secrets and witnessed their mysterious modes of concealment; and that, should he fall into their power, death must inevitably await him.

  These ideas crossed his brain in a moment, and convinced him of the necessity of prudence and extreme caution. He must leave the house unperceived, and dare the pitiless storm and pelting rain; for the tempest still raged without.

  He once more approached the window to ascertain if there were any chance of stealing across the landing-place unseen. Unfortunately he drew too near the window: the light of the candle fell full upon his countenance, which horror and alarm had rendered deadly pale and fearfully convulsed.

  It was at this moment that the ruffian, in the midst of his unholy vaunts, had caught sight of that human face—white as a sheet—and with eyes fixed upon him with a glare which his imagination rendered stony and unearthly.

  The youth saw that he was discovered; and a full sense of the desperate peril which hung over him, rushed to his mind. He turned, and endeavoured to fly away from the fatal spot; but, as imagination frequently fetters the limbs in a nightmare, and involves the sleeper in danger from which he vainly attempts to run, so did his legs now refuse to perform their office.

  His brain whirled—his eyes grew dim: he grasped at the wall to save himself from falling—but his senses were deserting him—and he sank fainting upon the floor.

  He awoke from the trance into which he had fallen, and became aware that he was being moved along. Almost at the same instant his eyes fell upon the sinister countenance of Dick, who was carrying him by the feet. The other ruffian was supporting his head.

  They were lifting him down the staircase, upon the top step of which the candle was standing.

  All the incidents of the evening immediately returned to the memory of the wretched boy, who now only too well comprehended the desperate perils that surrounded him.

  The bottom of the staircase was reached: the villains deposited their burden for a moment in the passage, while Dick retraced his steps to fetch down the candle.

  And then a horrible conflict of feelings and inclinations took place in the bosom of the unhappy youth. He shut his eyes; and for an instant debated within himself whether he should remain silent or cry out. He dreamt of immediate—instantaneous death; and yet he thought that he was young to die—oh! so young—and that men could not be such barbarians——

  But when the two ruffians stooped down to take him up again, fear surmounted all other sentiments, feelings, and inclinations; and his deep—his profound—his heartfelt agony was expressed in one long, loud, and piercing shriek!

  And then a fearful scene took place.

  The two villains carried the youth into the front room upon the ground-floor, and laid him down for a moment.

  It was the same room to which he had first found his way upon entering that house.

  It was the room in which, by the glare of the evanescent lightning, he had seen that black square upon the dirty floor.

  For a few instants all was dark. At length the candle was brought by the man in the fustian coat.

  The youth glanced wildly around him, and speedily recognised that room.

  He remembered how deep a sensation of horror seized him when that black square upon the floor first caught his eyes.

  He raised himself upon his left arm, and once more looked around.

  Great God! was it possible?

  That ominous blackness—that sinister square was the mouth of a yawning gulf, the trap-door of which was raised.

  A fetid smell rose from the depths below, and the gurgling of a current was faintly heard.

  The dread truth was in a moment made apparent to that unhappy boy—much more quickly than it occupies to relate or read. He started from his supine posture, and fell upon his knees at the feet of those merciless v
illains who had borne him thither.

  “Mercy, mercy! I implore you! Oh! do not devote me to so horrible a death! Do not—do not murder me!”

  “Hold your noisy tongue, you fool,” ejaculated Bill, brutally. “You have heard and seen too much for our safety; we can’t do otherwise.”

  “No, certainly not,” added Dick. “You are now as fly to the fakement as any one of us.”

  “Spare me, spare me, and I will never betray you! Oh! do not send me out of this world, so young—so very young! I have money, I have wealth, I am rich, and I will give you all I possess!” ejaculated the agonized youth; his countenance wearing an expression of horrible despair.

  “Come; here’s enough. Bill, lend a hand!” and Dick seized the boy by one arm, while his companion took a firm hold of the other.

  “Mercy, mercy!” shrieked the youth, struggling violently; but struggling vainly. “You will repent when you know—I am not what I——”

  He said no more: his last words were uttered over the mouth of the chasm ere the ruffians loosened their hold;—and then he fell.

  The trap-door was closed violently over the aperture, and drowned the scream of agony which burst from his lips.

  The two murderers then retraced their steps to the apartment on the first floor.

  * * * * *

  On the following day, about one o’clock, Mr. Markham, a gentleman of fortune residing in the northern environs of London, received the following letter:—

  “The inscrutable decrees of Providence have enabled the undersigned to warn you, that this night a burglarious attempt will be made upon your dwelling. The wretches who contemplate this infamy are capable of a crime of much blacker die. Beware!