CHAPTER CXVI.

OLD DEATH.

When Dykes made his appearance in the room just alluded to, he found

Benjamin Bones rocking himself to and fro on the chair in which he was

seated, while Bingham and the runners were partaking of refreshments at

the table.

The old miscreant was horribly pale; end there was a wild glaring of

the eyes which enhanced the ghastly expression of his countenance. The

man was in fact hideous to behold.

Now that he had leisure for reflection, and that the excitement

attending the perpetration of his bloody vengeance had passed away, he

had become fearfully alive to the awful predicament in which be stood;

nevertheless his entire aspect denoted dogged obduracy; and could he

have recalled the past, it is more than probable that he would have

played precisely the same part over again.

“Well, Mr. Dykes,” said Bingham, as the worthy thus addressed entered

the room, “will you jine us here in a bit of grub? You see, we’re

pitching into the cold jint like bricks; and the beer is fust-rate.”

“So is the pickles,” growled one of the runners, who was naturally of a

surly disposition, and could not help speaking in a grunting tone even

when best pleased.

“Come, sit down with us,” urged Mr. Bingham. “But, I say though, what

have you done with Tom Rain?”

“Done with, him, indeed!” exclaimed Mr. Dykes, swelling with the

importance of a man who had astounding news to communicate: “what

hasn’t he done for his-self, you mean?”

“Has he cut his throat--or taken poison?” demanded Old Death, eagerly.

“Not he!” cried Dykes. “Why--you cursed old fence, you’ve always got

wicked notions in your head--you have. Mr. Rainford is a genelman,

every inch of him--and I always knowed it. He’s got a power of slap-up

friends as won’t leave him long in the lurch, I can tell you.”

And the officer bestowed a significant wink upon his listeners, whose

curiosity he had now worked up to the highest pitch.

“What--what has he done?” gasped Old Death, terribly excited with

suspense. “Do you mean to say----that is--has he----_escaped_?” he

demanded, scarcely able to give utterance to the word; so fearful was

he lest Tom Rain, against whom he cherished a fiend-like hatred, should

not again figure upon the scaffold.

“Patience--patience,” said Mr. Dykes, taking a chair. “In the fust

place, you must know, that in comes a lady--and who should she be but

that very same Lady Hatfield as I’m sure Tom Rain robbed some months

ago near Hounslow, although I couldn’t bring the thing home to him at

the time----”

“Well--well,” muttered Old Death, the agony of whose suspense was

perfectly excruciating.

“But fust I should tell you,” resumed Mr. Dykes, “that Miss de Medina

comes in with her father and Lord Ellingham----”

Old Death gave vent to a savage growl.

“And now I understand all about that diamond affair, Bingham, you

know,” continued the officer; “_for, although one of the sisters is

a corpse and her face is disfigured_, I never in my life see such a

likeness as there is between them.”

We should observe that Old Death had already learnt, from the

communications which had been made in his presence by the runners who

were first in charge of Tom Rain on this eventful evening, that it was

not Esther de Medina whom he had slain, but Tamar--the wife of the man

whom he considered to be his most mortal enemy.

“But as I was a-saying,” continued Dykes, “in comes Lady Hatfield; and,

behold ye! she makes a regular set speech to prepare us all for what’s

about to take place; and then she tells us plump that Tom Rain has

received his Majesty’s free pardon!”

“No--no!” yelled forth Old Death: “it’s a lie--it’s a lie!”

“Hold your tongue, you cursed fence!” exclaimed Mr. Dykes, deeply

indignant at having his word thus unceremoniously called in question.

“Lady Hatfield had the paper with her, all reglar according to the

stattit in that case made and purwided.”

“It’s a forgery--a rank forgery!” shrieked Benjamin Bones, his

countenance becoming truly appalling with its hideous workings. “And

you have let him go, upon that pretence----you----you have----”

And he fell back in his chair, gasping for breath.

“Wot an inweterate old scoundrel it is,” observed Bingham. “Here--give

him a glass of beer, Bill; for, by goles, he’ll suffocate--and the

scaffold will be cheated of its dues after all.”

The runner, to whom the command was addressed, approached Old Death and

offered him a tumbler of porter: but the savage monster repulsed it

brutally, ferocious growls escaping from his breast.

“Well--leave him alone, then,” said Bingham.

The runner accordingly resumed his seat and his attack upon the cold

viands at the same time.

“I tell you what it is, Mr. Ben Bones,” exclaimed Dykes: “I have seen

a many free pardons--’specially where genelmen that got into trouble

was concerned, for it’s seldom that a poor devil has interest enough to

get such a thing--and I know precious well that the one I see just now,

was as reglar as possible. It had the King’s own name--his sign-mangle,

they call it--and his precious big seal--and the Home Secretary’s

signatur underneath.”

“He will escape--he will escape yet!” yelled forth Old Death, clasping

his hands together, as if in mortal agony. “The wretch--he will escape

the gibbet--he--he----”

And again he gasped in so frightful a manner that his eyes seemed to be

starting from his head, and his attenuated frame literally writhed in

convulsive spasms.

“Ah!” he exclaimed, after a long pause, during which his shocking

appearance had produced a dead silence of horror and amazement: “I have

thought of something”--and he grinned malignantly. “Did you not say

that men had been spirited away--in that Torrens’ affair----”

“To be sure I did,” answered Bingham, to whom the question was

addressed: “and Tom Rain did it. Well, what about that, Mr. Dykes?”

“Why--that seems to be knocked on the head also,” was the reply:

“though I have no doubt we shall get the reward, because we did our

dooty in arresting him; and if so be that the Home Secretary chooses to

grant him a pardon in that respect also----”

“He won’t--he won’t!” ejaculated Old Death, with feverish--nay, with

hysterical excitement. “He does not dare do it! No--no--Tom Rain must

swing for that, at all events! ’Tis as good as being accessory to

the murder--’tis shielding the murderers! Ha! ah! he will swing for

that--he will swing for that!”

“I’m blessed if he will, though,” said Dykes, bluntly; “for it seems

that he’s got a paper signed by the King which will put him all

to rights--and though I don’t exactly understand that part of the

business, I’m pretty sure Tom Rain is in no danger. Lord Ellingham has

got the matter in hand; and he has gone up to the Home Office. That’s

why I left Mr. Rainford at liberty--just taking his word of honour that

he wouldn’t bolt.”

“He’ll deceive you--he’ll run away--he’ll escape!” cried Old Death.

“You are mad to trust him! Go--seize on him again--put hand-cuffs----”

“Yes--on _you_, in no time--if you don’t hold your tongue,” interrupted

Mr. Dykes. “But ain’t all this a rummy business, though?” he demanded,

turning towards Bingham and the subordinate officials. “The old Jew

seems a most respectable gentleman--I’d take his bail for any amount,

if I was a magistrate. And really his daughter is a sweet young o’oman:

the Earl’s going to marry her, I’ll swear to it.”

“Mr. Dykes--Mr. Dykes,” whispered Old Death in his ear; and the

officer, turning suddenly round again, perceived that the tall, gaunt

form of the fence was close behind him.

“Well--what do you want?” demanded the functionary.

“One word--one word only,” murmured Bones, in a low, guttural,

sepulchral tone, while his frame shook with nervous excitement: “one

word, I say--only one word.”

“Now, then--what is it?” asked Dykes, suffering the old man to draw him

towards the recess containing the door which opened into the laboratory.

“I must speak to you in private--I have something particular to tell

you,” was the urgent and impatient reply. “Come into this room--I

shan’t keep you a moment.”

“Well--I suppose I must humour you,” said the officer, in a surly tone.

“One should look upon you as a dead man; for besides your nick-name,

the law will soon make you one in right good earnest.”

With this brutal jest--brutal even in respect to so awful a miscreant

as Old Death--the Bow Street functionary conducted him into the

laboratory, where a light happened to be burning, and the door of which

apartment Benjamin Bones closed cautiously behind them.

“Now, then--make haste, and tell us all you have got to say,” said

Dykes, eyeing the old man suspiciously and in such a meaning fashion as

to imply that any attempt at escape would assuredly prove abortive.

“Mr. Dykes, you are a good man--and a kind man--I know you are,” began

Old Death, in a coaxing tone and with a manner indicating the most

dreadful state of nervous excitement: “you would not like to see a

poor, miserable old creature like myself sent to--to--the scaffold.

No--no--you would not--you would not. But I know that it must be made

worth your while--you understand me--and--and--I will give you all I

have--yes, all I have--several thousand pounds--for I have got several

thousands!” he added, with a ghastly grin. “But no one knows where they

are except myself,--and you and I can go together to the place--and I

will give you every guinea--yes, every guinea, Mr. Dykes--remember,

every guinea I say--if you will agree to this.”

“Agree to what?” demanded Dykes, affecting not to comprehend the old

villain.

“Oh! just as if you didn’t understand me, my dear friend--my good,

kind friend!” exclaimed Benjamin Bones, becoming more coaxing in his

tone, which was as low and subdued as his sepulchral voice would

admit. “Do consider for an instant--an old man like me to be in such

trouble! You wouldn’t be happy if you had it on your mind that you had

been the means--the actual means of sending such a wretched creature

as myself to the scaffold? Speak to me, Mr. Dykes! Five thousand

pounds--yes--five thousand pounds, in good gold guineas--if--if----”

“If what?” asked the officer, with the most provoking determination not

to understand any thing that was not explained in unmistakeable words.

“If you--you will let me escape!” whispered Old Death, while his eyes

seemed to penetrate to the very soul of the man towards whom he bent in

a confidential way as he spoke.

“Now that’s English,” said Dykes, whose countenance gave not the

least indication of the manner in which he intended to receive the

proposition.

“And--and you will agree, won’t you?” asked Bones. “Remember--five

thousand guineas--all to be paid in one lump--this very night----”

“Well, now--it can’t be done, old chap,” interrupted Dykes, in a

cool--almost brutal manner, as if he were glad of the opportunity to

encourage hope for a time, merely for the sake of destroying it with a

rude hand and in an abrupt way.

“It can’t be done,” murmured Old Death, despair seizing upon him: “it

can’t be done, you say?”--and his eyes glanced wildly around.

“Is this all you have to tell me?” demanded the officer. “Because, if

so----”

“Five thousand guineas!--and he refuses it!” ejaculated Bones. “My God!

what will become of me?--what will become of me?”

And still his looks wandered rapidly about the apartment.

“Now, then--let as go back into the next room, if you please,” said

Dykes; “for I don’t see no use in staying here, wasting our time.”

At that instant Old Death’s eyes settled upon something on a shelf

close at hand; and, suddenly springing aside, he seized upon a

bottle--the particular object for which he had been searching with his

eager glances.

Dykes, without even having a moment’s leisure to make a single

conjecture relative to his intentions, but instinctively foreseeing

that something wrong was contemplated, closed upon the old man in an

instant.

With the speed of lightning did Benjamin Bones raise the bottle which

his right hand grasped; and in leas than the twinkling of an eye would

it have been smashed down upon the officer, who, seeing his danger, by

a natural impulse held down his head--when a yell of agony burst from

the lips of the old miscreant.

For, as he raised the bottle, the glass stopper fell out, and the

burning vitriol streamed down on his head and over his countenance, a

few drops only falling upon Dykes, and those principally on his clothes.

The officer instantaneously fell back; and Old Death threw himself on

the floor, where he rolled in horrid agonies--writhing like a stricken

snake, and shrieking franticly, “Oh! my eyes! my eyes!”

Bingham and the subordinate functionaries rushed in from the

adjoining apartment; and, having assured themselves that Dykes

was unhurt--although his escape from the burning fluid was truly

miraculous--they turned their attention towards Old Death. One of

them obtained water, and dashed it over him; but still he rolled and

writhed--uttering dreadful cries, mingled with horrid imprecations--and

rubbing his face madly with his hands. For the miserable wretch was

burnt in an appalling manner; and his sight was gone!

We must pause for a single moment to explain his design--that design

which so signally failed and brought down such frightful consequences

upon himself. Perceiving that all hope of being able to bribe Mr. Dykes

was frustrated, he thought of the only alternative that could possibly

be attempted--an escape. At the same instant that this last idea was

formed, it flashed to his mind that Dr. Lascelles had been accustomed

to keep many deadly poisons and ardent fluids in the laboratory. His

eyes wandered round in search of them; and they lighted upon a large

bottle, labelled “Vitriol.” To break it over the officer’s head,

and escape in the confusion that must ensue by means of the little

chamber which had once been his bed-room, and which, as the reader

may recollect, had two doors--one opening from the laboratory, and

the other into apartments beyond,--this was the hastily conceived but

discomfitted design of Old Death!

The desperate project had failed--and in a desperate manner, too: for

the miscreant had received mortal injuries--and his sufferings were

horrible. A pint of vitriol had streamed over his head--penetrating

beneath his clothes, all down his neck and chest--burning him horribly,

even to his very eyes in their sockets!

Rainford, alarmed by the hideous yells which had reached him in another

part of the spacious house, rushed into the laboratory to ascertain

the cause, having begged Mr. de Medina and Esther to await his return.

At the same instant that he entered by one door, Jacob Smith made his

appearance by another; and Dykes hastily explained what had occurred.

Rainford accordingly issued immediate orders to transport the dying

man to a bed-chamber; and fortunately, at this crisis, Dr. Lascelles

arrived at the house.

The physician had been alarmed by the rumours which prevailed relative

to the incidents that had occurred in Red Lion Street: but a few

words, rapidly exchanged with Tom Rain, relieved the doctor of all

apprehensions on account of his friend--and all his attention was now

devoted to Old Death.

[Illustration]

But though the laboratory promptly supplied all the remedies needed in

such a case, their application was vain. They gave relief, it is true:

but they could not arrest the rapid advances which death was making

upon the wretched old man.

“Jacob,” cried the doctor: “Jacob Smith, I say,” he repeated more

impatiently, the lad not having heard his first summons; “hand me that

bottle, and----”

“Jacob Smith!” cried Old Death, his moanings suddenly ceasing at the

mention of that name: “is he here? Then let me tell him----My God!

this burning sensation----Jacob--Jacob--my poor boy----Oh! my eyes--my

eyes----doctor, do something to my eyes--they are like red hot coals in

my head----Jacob--I--I--am your----father!”

“My father!” almost shrieked the lad, in the wildness of his amazement

at these tidings: then, falling on his knees by the bed-side, he

exclaimed, “Oh! if you are indeed my parent----”

“I am--I am, Jacob,” exclaimed the dying wretch: “but these

tortures----why do they tear my flesh with pincers?--why do they put

hot skewers into my eyes? Doctor--doctor----take away the red-hot

iron----lift me out of the fire----take me away, I say--save me--save

me--I am in flames--I am burning----My God! I am burning!”

“Father--father,” cried Jacob, in a tone of agonising appeal; “compose

yourself--think of all your sins--repent----”

“Will no one snatch me from the fire?” yelled forth Old Death,

writhing and tossing upon the bed in mortal pains: “perdition seize

ye, wretches--I am burning--I am in flames--my eyes scorch me--my

flesh is all seared over with red-hot irons----Oh! it is hell--it is

hell! Yes--I am in hell----My God! this is my punishment! Oh! send

me back to the world again--let me retrieve the past--let me live my

existence once more--I will be good--I will not sin! No--no--for hell

is terribly--terrible--and these fires----Oh! horror--horror--snakes

of flame have seized upon me----they are gnawing at my heart--they

have thrust their fiery stings into my eyes--they wind themselves

round and round me--horror--horror--there--I feel them now--Oh!

mercy--mercy----mercy----mer----”

“This is frightful!” whispered Tom Rain to Dr. Lascelles; and all the

others present at the dreadful scene; shuddered from head to foot.

Jacob Smith buried his face in his hands and sobbed convulsively.

The dying man still continued to rave, and shriek, and yell for a

short time longer: but his powers of articulation rapidly failed--his

writhings grew less violent, until they ceased altogether,--and in a

few minutes, the dark spirit which had never spared and never pitied

human creature, fled for ever!