Oliver Twist. Volume 3 of 3

“What if I did it!” cried the Jew almost in a yell. “I, that know so much, and could hang so many besides myself!”

“I don’t know,” replied Sikes, clenching his teeth and turning white at the mere suggestion. “I’d do something in the jail that ’ud get me put in irons; and if I was tried along with you, I’d fall upon you with them in the open court, and beat your brains out afore the people. I should have such strength,” muttered the robber, poising his brawny arm, “that I could smash your head as if a loaded waggon had gone over it.”

“You would.”

“Would I!” said the housebreaker. “Try me.”

“If it was Charley, or the Dodger, or Bet, or – ”

“I don’t care who,” replied Sikes impatiently. “Whoever it was, I’d serve them the same.”

Fagin again looked hard at the robber, and motioning him to be silent, stooped over the bed upon the floor, and shook the sleeper to rouse him. Sikes leant forward in his chair, looking on with his hands upon his knees as if wondering much what all this questioning and preparation was to end in.

“Bolter, Bolter. Poor lad!” said Fagin, looking up with an expression of devilish anticipation, and speaking slowly and with marked emphasis. “He’s tired – tired with watching for her so long, – watching for her, Bill.”

“Wot d’ye mean?” asked Sikes, drawing back.

The Jew made no answer, but bending over the sleeper again, hauled him into a sitting posture. When his assumed name had been repeated several times, Noah rubbed his eyes, and giving a heavy yawn looked sleepily about him.

“Tell me that again – once again, just for him to hear,” said the Jew, pointing to Sikes as he spoke.

“Tell yer what?” asked the sleepy Noah, shaking himself pettishly.

“That about – Nancy,” said the Jew, clutching Sikes by the wrist, as if to prevent his leaving the house before he had heard enough. “You followed her?”

“Yes.”

“To London Bridge?”

“Yes.”

“Where she met two people?”

“So she did.”

“A gentleman, and a lady that she had gone to of her own accord before, who asked her to give up all her pals, and Monks first, which she did – and to describe him, which she did – and to tell her what house it was that we meet at and go to, which she did – and where it could be best watched from, which she did – and what time the people went there, which she did. She did all this. She told it all every word without a threat, without a murmur – she did – didn’t she?” cried the Jew, half mad with fury.

“All right,” replied Noah, scratching his head. “That’s just what it was!”

“What did they say about last Sunday?” demanded the Jew.

“About last Sunday!” replied Noah, considering. “Why, I told yer that before.”

“Again. Tell it again!” cried Fagin, tightening his grasp on Sikes, and brandishing his other hand aloft as the foam flew from his lips.

“They asked her,” said Noah, who, as he grew more wakeful, seemed to have a dawning perception who Sikes was, “they asked her why she didn’t come last Sunday as she promised. She said she couldn’t – ”

“Why – why?” interrupted the Jew triumphantly. “Tell him that.”

“Because she was forcibly kept at home by Bill, the man she had told them of before,” replied Noah.

“What more of him?” cried the Jew. “What more of the man she had told them of before? Tell him that, tell him that.”

“Why, that she couldn’t very easily get out of doors unless he knew where she was going to,” said Noah; “and so the first time she went to see the lady, she – ha! ha! ha! it made me laugh when she said it, that it did – she gave him a drink of laudanum.”

“Hell’s fire!” cried Sikes, breaking fiercely from the Jew. “Let me go!”

Flinging the old man from him, he rushed from the room, and darted wildly and furiously up the stairs.

“Bill, Bill!” cried the Jew, following him hastily. “A word. Only a word.”

The word would not have been exchanged, but that the housebreaker was unable to open the door, on which he was expending fruitless oaths and violence when the Jew came panting up.

“Let me out,” said Sikes. “Don’t speak to me – it’s not safe. Let me out, I say.”

“Hear me speak a word,” rejoined the Jew, laying his hand upon the lock, “You won’t be – ”

“Well,” replied the other.

“You won’t be – too – violent, Bill?” whined the Jew.

The day was breaking, and there was light enough for the men to see each other’s faces. They exchanged one brief glance; there was a fire in the eyes of both which could not be mistaken.

“I mean,” said Fagin, showing that he felt all disguise was now useless, “not too violent for safety. Be crafty, Bill, and not too bold.”

Sikes made no reply, but, pulling open the door of which the Jew had turned the lock, dashed into the silent streets.

Without one pause or moment’s consideration, without once turning his head to the right or left or raising his eyes to the sky or lowering them to the ground but looking straight before him with savage resolution, his teeth so tightly compressed that the strained jaw seemed starting through his skin, the robber held on his headlong course, nor muttered a word, nor relaxed a muscle, until he reached his own door. He opened it softly with a key, strode lightly up the stairs, and entering his own room, double-locked the door, and lifting a heavy table against it, drew back the curtain of the bed.

The girl was lying half-dressed upon it. He had roused her from her sleep, for she raised herself with a hurried and startled look.

“Get up,” said the man.

“It is you, Bill!” said the girl, with an expression of pleasure at his return.

“It is,” was the reply. “Get up.”

There was a candle burning, but the man hastily drew it from the candlestick and hurled it under the grate. Seeing the faint light of early day without, the girl rose to undraw the curtain.

“Let it be,” said Sikes, thrusting his hand before her. “There’s light enough for wot I’ve got to do.”

“Bill,” said the girl, in the low voice of alarm, “why do you look like that at me?”

The robber sat regarding her for a few seconds with dilated nostrils and heaving breast, and then grasping her by the head and throat dragged her into the middle of the room, and looking once towards the door, placed his heavy hand upon her mouth.

“Bill, Bill – ” gasped the girl, wrestling with the strength of mortal fear, – “I – I won’t scream or cry – not once – hear me – speak to me – tell me what I have done.”

“You know, you she devil!” returned the robber, suppressing his breath. “You were watched to-night; every word you said was heard.”