CHAPTER CXCIII.

JACK RILY AND MRS. MORTIMER.

The individual whom Mrs. Mortimer thus unexpectedly and unpleasantly

encountered, had made a considerable improvement in his personal

appearance during the few days that had elapsed since she saw him last.

The old fur cap, the greasy velveteen shooting-jacket, the rusty

waistcoat, the corduroy trowsers, and the heavy high-lows, were

exchanged for a shining silk hat, a complete suit of black clothes,

and a pair of Wellington boots: his shirt was likewise new and clean,

and he wore a satin stock instead of the blue cotton handkerchief tied

loosely round his neck.

He had evidently endeavoured to make himself look as respectable as

he could: but the almost African hue of his complexion--the horrible

hare-lip, through the opening of which the large white teeth glistened

up to the gums--and the yellow fire that seemed to shine in the small

and restless eyes, gave him such a peculiar aspect that it was scarcely

possible for any one who passed to avoid noticing him.

“Mrs. Mortimer, my beloved tiger-cat, how are you?” he exclaimed,

grasping the old woman’s hand and shaking it violently.

“Very well, thank you, Mr. Rily: but pray do not detain me now, there’s

a good soul--for I have not a moment to spare----”

“I shan’t detain you, old beauty,” interrupted Jack; “because I’ll

just do myself the pleasure of walking along with you. Come--take my

arm--you needn’t be ashamed to do so now: I think I’m pretty tidily

rigged--eh?”

Thus speaking, he glanced complacently over his own person, and then

bestowed a look upon the outward appearance of Mrs. Mortimer, who, as

we have already observed, was dressed with unusual gaiety.

“Come, my dear--take my arm,” exclaimed the Doctor.

“Really, Mr. Rily, you must excuse me,” said the old woman, who was

most anxious to get away from the vicinity of the bank, but by no

means desirous of remaining in the company of the Doctor: “I have a

particular matter to attend to immediately! If, however, you desire to

see me, I shall be most happy to meet you this evening----”

“This fiddlestick!” interrupted Jack Rily, impatiently. “You know that

you never kept the appointment you made with me after that Stamford

Street affair the other day--when you went away with the young girl in

the cab; and yet you assured me that there was money to be got through

her----”

“Well, well--I have not time to talk of the matter now,” said Mrs.

Mortimer, angrily: “and I _must_ take my leave of you.”

“Lord bless you! I’m not going to be put off in this fashion, old

lady,” cried Jack. “It suits me to have a little further chat with

you--and I’m determined the whim shall be gratified. So take my arm at

once, and come along. If we stand here palavering, we shall soon have a

mob about us--because it isn’t every day that two such handsome people

as you and I are seen together,” he added, with a horrible chuckle.

“But perhaps you are not going my way,” said Mrs. Mortimer, still

hesitating to take the proffered arm, and deeply vexed at this

encounter.

“Oh! yes I am--because I’ll go any way you like,” responded Jack Rily,

in the most accommodating spirit.

“Well--you shall be my companion for a short time,” exclaimed Mrs.

Mortimer, affecting to laugh in good humour; and, taking his arm, she

proceeded with him along the Strand.

“I met our friend Vitriol Bob last night at a public-house,” observed

Jack, who seemed quite proud of having the hideous old woman clinging

to him. “He looked remarkably savage when he saw me in my bran new

toggery--for he thought to himself that the money which purchased it

ought to have belonged to him. I hadn’t seen him since the night in

Stamford Street; and, as he had the impudence to stare at me in a

threatening manner, I went up to him and whispered in his ear, ‘_What

about old Torrens, Bob?_’ He turned quite livid with rage, and ground

his teeth together; then, after a few moments’ consideration, he

said--also in a whisper--‘_If it wasn’t that you knew that secret, I’d

serve you out nicely, old fellow: but I’ll be even with you yet, I dare

say._’--‘_Whenever you like, Bob_,’ said I; and then we sate down in

different parts of the room and stared at each other all the time we

were smoking our pipes. But not another word passed between us; and

the other people who were present, knowing that we were excellent pals

until lately, wondered what the devil was the matter.”

“And did he bury the dead body, do you know?” inquired Mrs. Mortimer.

“I didn’t put the question to him,” answered Jack Rily. “Nothing more

passed between us than what I have just told you: but I have no doubt

that he laid old Torrens two or three feet under the kitchen floor in

the Haunted House. And now, how do you suppose that I and Vitriol Bob

stand with regard to each other?”

“As enemies, I should suppose,” replied Mrs. Mortimer, wondering by

what means she could possibly shake off her disagreeable companion.

“As mortal--implacable--unrelenting enemies,” continued the man,

lowering his voice: for his loud talking had already attracted the

notice of the passers-by in the Strand, and he had just caught sight

of a policeman who appeared to be eyeing him rather suspiciously.

“Yes--as bitter enemies,” he repeated. “Not that I have any resentment

_now_ against Bob: because my revenge is gratified, and I am more than

even with him. But as he will take the first opportunity to thrust a

knife into my ribs, or dash his vitriol bottle in my face, whenever he

catches me in a lonely place,--why, I must be prepared to struggle with

him to the very death. So, my old tiger-cat,” added the Doctor, with

amazing cheerfulness, considering the gravity of the topic, “whenever

he and I do so meet, only one of us will walk away alive. That’s as

certain as that you’re leaning on my arm, and that I’m proud of your

company.”

“Is Vitriol Bob, as you call him, such a desperate fellow?” inquired

Mrs. Mortimer, wishing the Doctor at the hottest place she could think

of.

“Why, I’ve told you all about him before,” exclaimed Jack. “And now let

me give you a little piece of advice about yourself, old gal----”

“About me!” repeated Mrs. Mortimer, with a shudder occasioned by a

presentiment of what she was going to hear.

“Yes--about you, my tiger-cat,” repeated the Doctor. “Remember that

Vitriol Bob never forgets or forgives--and he owes you _one_. That’s

all! But, when I think of it, I shall constitute myself your lawful

protector--because I never _did_ meet any woman so precious ugly as you

are; and ugliness, when joined to ferocity, is beauty in my eyes--as I

have before told you.”

“Well, well--we will discuss all these points another time,” said Mrs.

Mortimer. “I must leave you here,” she added, stopping suddenly short

at the corner of Wellington Street, leading to Waterloo Bridge.

“Your way is mine,” observed Jack Rily, coolly, as he compelled her to

walk on. “But, by the bye, what were you doing in that bank at the door

of which I met you?”

“I merely went in to see a clerk of my acquaintance,” replied the

old woman, cursing in her heart the odious companion who thus

pertinaciously attached himself to her.

“Come, that won’t do, old gal!” exclaimed Jack, as he paid the toll for

them both at the gate of the bridge. “I am so well acquainted with all

the rigs and moves of London life, as to be able to tell in a moment

whether a person coming out of a bank has been to receive money, or

not. If it’s a gentleman, he feels at his breeches-pocket to see that

the cash is all safe--or he buttons his coat over his breast which

proves that the notes are in his waistcoat. If it’s a woman, she gripes

her reticule precious tight--or smoothes down her dress just over where

her pocket is--or else settles her shawl over her bosom, when the notes

are there. This last was precisely what you did; and therefore, my old

tiger-cat, I know that you’ve got money in the bosom of your dress as

well as if I saw you put it there.”

“You’re quite wrong for once in your life, Mr. Rily,” said Mrs.

Mortimer, trembling at the remarks which had just fallen upon her ears.

“Then why does your arm shake so as it hangs in mine?” demanded the

Doctor, with an imperturbability which frightened the old woman more

than if he had actually used threats: for, little as she had seen of

him, she was well enough acquainted with his character to perceive that

he was meditating mischief.

“My arm did _not_ shake,” cried Mrs. Mortimer, mastering up all her

courage and presence of mind, “But here we are at the end of the

bridge, and I must bid you good-bye. When shall we meet again?”

“We are not going to separate in a hurry, I can tell you,” said the

Doctor: “so don’t think it. You know I love you,” he added with a

horrible grin, which opened his harelip so wide that he seemed to be an

ogre about to devour her; “and I love much more still the bank-notes

that you have got in your bosom. Besides, it is my duty to protect you

from Vitriol Bob; and, in addition to all this, I think we shall be

able to knock up a very cozie partnership together.”

“And suppose that I decline the honour you intend me?” asked the old

woman, assuming a tone of bitter sarcasm in order to induce Rily to

believe that she was not afraid--though, in reality, her heart was

sinking within her.

“In the case which you have suggested, I shall force you to do as I

choose and act as I desire,” coolly responded the Doctor.

“Force me, indeed!” repeated the old woman, withdrawing her arm, and

stopping short in the Waterloo Road.

“Yes--force you,” said Jack Rily, compelling her to take his arm again

and also to walk on. “You had better not provoke me, because I am not

the man to stick at trifles; and if you make a noise and raise a mob,

I will swear black and blue that you are my wife--that you have bolted

with my money--and that the notes are concealed somewhere about your

person. Then, if the police should interfere, you will have to give

an account of how you became possessed of the notes aforesaid;--and I

dare say, from the estimate I have formed of your character, you would

not like to be questioned on that point. In a word, then--unless I am

mightily deceived--you have committed some nice little bit of roguery;

and I mean to go halves with you.”

This tirade was spun out to such a length and delivered in such a

measured tone of coolness, that Mrs. Mortimer, who was perfectly

astounded at the menaces with which it opened, had leisure to recover

her self-possession: but the rapid survey of her position which she was

enabled to take while the Doctor was finishing his harangue, was far

from consolatory. She had indeed committed a little roguery, and would

indeed be sorry to be questioned by the police; and she knew, moreover,

that Jack Rily was quite capable of carrying all his threats into

immediate execution.

What, then, was she to do? There was no alternative but to bend to

circumstances--make the best of a bad job--and trust to the chapter of

accidents so as to avail herself of any occurrence that might turn up

in her favour.

“Well--you keep silent, old gal,” said the Doctor, after a short pause.

“Is it that you don’t admire me sufficiently to take me as a husband,

in the fashion of leaping over the broom-stick?”

“It is of the utmost importance that I should attend to certain

pressing matters,” returned Mrs. Mortimer; “and afterwards I shall be

happy to fall into all your plans and projects.”

“Well, we will attend to the pressing matters together,” said the

Doctor. “A husband and wife must have no secrets from each other. But

since we have come this way, and as my abode happens to lie in the

immediate neighbourhood, I propose at once to introduce you thereto

and install you as mistress of the place. I have got a comfortable

crib--for Torrens’s money did wonders for me as you may well suppose.”

At this moment a project flashed to the mind of the old woman. What if

she were to yield, without farther hesitation or remonstrance, to the

Doctor’s proposals, and watch her opportunity either to murder him or

escape when he was asleep? By wheedling herself into his confidence,

she would know where he deposited the money which, she feared, must

pass from her hands into his own; and she could repossess herself of

it, if he were disposed of, or if she were wakeful while he slept.

“I do not mind accompanying you to your lodgings,” she said; “and

there we can talk over the whole business much better than in the open

street.”

“There! now you are getting into a better frame of mind,” observed Jack

Rily. “This way:”--and he turned into the low streets lying on the

left-hand side of the Waterloo Road, between Upper Stamford Street and

the New Cut.

The neighbourhood alluded to swarms with brothels of the most infamous

description; and half-naked women may be seen at all hours lounging

about at the doors, and endeavouring to entice into their dens any

respectable-looking men who happen to pass that way. Robberies are of

frequent occurrence in those houses of ill fame; and the great aim of

the vile females inhabiting them, is to entrap persons who are the

worse for liquor and whose appearance denotes a well-filled purse.

Neighbourhoods of this kind should be shunned by all decent persons, as

if a pestilence were raging there!

It was into Roupel-street that Jack Rily conducted Mrs. Mortimer; and

when he had introduced her to a small but well furnished parlour, with

a bed-chamber communicating by means of folding-doors, he produced a

bottle of brandy, saying, “Now let us drink to our happy meeting this

day!”

Filling two glasses with the potent liquor, he handed one to the old

woman, who swallowed the contents greedily: for she felt that she stood

in need of a stimulant.

“Now, my beautiful tiger-cat,” exclaimed the Doctor, as he drew

down the blind over the window, “I am about to subject you to a

little ceremony which may be perhaps looked upon as the least thing

uncourteous; but it must be accomplished all the same. So don’t let us

have any bother about it.”

Thus speaking, he approached the cupboard whence he had taken the

brandy, and drawing forth a huge clasp-knife, he touched a spring which

made the blade fly open and remain fixed as if it were a dagger.

“You do not mean to hurt me?” exclaimed the old woman, now becoming

terribly alarmed--so much so, that she sank exhausted into a chair,

while her looks were fixed appealingly on the man’s countenance.

“Not unless you grow obstreperous or have any of your nonsense,” said

Jack. “I love you too well to harm you,” he added, with a leer that

made him more hideously ugly than ever: “but I must have my own way all

the same. So just be so kind as to place upon the table the Bank-notes

which you have got in the bosom of your gown. It is but fair that I

should have a wife who can bring me a dowry--and you must leave it to

my generosity,” he went on to say, with a chuckling laugh, “how much I

shall settle upon you afterwards.”

[Illustration]

While he was thus speaking, Mrs. Mortimer rapidly revolved in her mind

all the chances that were for or against her at that moment. Were she

to scream and attempt resistance, could she succeed in alarming the

neighbourhood before the miscreant would have plunged his dagger into

her?--or, indeed, would he have recourse to such an extreme measure

at all? These questions she at once decided against herself; and,

reverting to her former project of affecting obedience, she thrust her

hand into her bosom, dexterously separated a couple of the notes from

the rest of the bundle, and threw those two upon the table.

Jack Rily instantly snatched them up; and when he perceived that they

were for _a thousand pounds_ each, he could scarcely contain his joy.

Flinging the terrible clasp-knife on the floor, he rushed upon the old

woman, who was seized with too sudden and too profound a terror to

permit her even to give utterance to the faintest ejaculation--for she

thought that he intended to murder her: but her cruel apprehensions

fled in another moment when the loathsome monster, throwing his arms

about her neck, began to embrace and fondle her as if she were a

blooming beauty of seventeen instead of a hideous harridan upwards of

sixty. Nevertheless, old and polluted as she was, and inured to all

circumstances of disgust as her term of transportation had rendered

her, she revolted with a sickening sensation from the pawings and

caresses of the hare-lipped wretch who had thus enfolded her in his

horrible embrace. She therefore struggled to rid herself of him--to

escape from his arms: but he, almost maddened with the joy which the

sight of the bank-notes had raised up in his breast, hugged her only

the more tightly in proportion as her resistance became the more

desperate.

“By heavens! I’ll kiss you again, old gal!” he exclaimed. “I care

not how ugly the world may consider you----Be quiet now, can’t

you?----to me you’re a paragon of beauty----Perdition! let go of me,

you hell-cat----there! now you’re magnificent in your rage--that’s the

humour I like to see a woman in----Hey-dey! what’s that?”

And, as he uttered this ejaculation, he suddenly quitted his hold upon

Mrs. Mortimer, and pounced upon something that had rolled on the floor.

It was the bundle of Bank-notes, which had fallen from the old woman’s

dress during the struggle.

“By Jove! here’s a treasure--a fortune--a King’s ransom!” ejaculated

the Doctor, scarcely able to believe his eyes, as he hastily turned

over the notes with his hands. “My God! it is impossible!” he cried,

his wonderment increasing to such a pitch, that he began to think he

must be insane: then, a sudden idea striking him, he turned abruptly

towards Mrs. Mortimer, who had sunk back, exhausted and overwhelmed

with rage and grief, into the chair. “Ah! I understand it all now,”

he said, his voice changing in a moment to the low tone of solemn

mystery: “you are a nice old girl, you are! Yes--yes--I understand it

at last! These are all queer screens[26]--and you went into the bank to

smash[27] some of them. By Jove! it’s glorious.”

Mrs. Mortimer, who was gasping for breath, could make no reply: her

mouth was parched--her tongue was as dry as if she had been travelling

for hours over a desert without tasting water.

“And yet,” resumed Jack Rily, scrutinising the notes more narrowly

still, “these are precious good imitations--too good to be imitations,

indeed. I know enough of Bank-notes--aye, and of forged ones too--to

see that these are the genuine flimsies. Blood and thunder! what a

glorious old wretch you are!” he cried, again surveying her with a

joy that was entirely unfeigned and amounted almost to admiration.

“I suppose you have committed some splendid forgery. But of course

it must be something of that kind,” he added, a sudden reminiscence

striking him: “or else you wouldn’t have been so deucedly alarmed when

I threatened just now to kick up a row in the streets and attract the

notice of the police. So, you perceive, that I was pretty keen in my

surmises. I knew you had money concealed in your bosom--and I was

equally well convinced you had not obtained it by means that would bear

inquiry. However, here it is--in my possession--and it can’t be in

safer hands. I’ll just sit down quietly, and count how much there is.”

Thus speaking, the monster picked up his clasp-knife, which he closed

and consigned to his pocket; and he next proceeded to inspect the

Bank-notes. But when he discovered the enormous sum to which they

amounted, his astonishment grew to such an extreme as even to subdue

his joy; and, shaking his head slowly, he observed, “This is such a

heavy affair that the police will leave no stone unturned to detect

the holders of the notes. Whatever we do, must be done at once; and in

order that I should be able to judge what course to pursue, you must

give me all the particulars of the transaction.”

Mrs. Mortimer was struck by the truth of this observation: for she knew

that the moment the forgery was detected, payment of the notes would

be stopped, and advertisements announcing the usual caution would be

inserted in the newspapers.

“Well, I suppose there is no use in disguising the real truth,” she

exclaimed, recovering her self-possession; “and I will tell you all

about it in a few words. A certain nobleman----”

“Who is he?” demanded Rily. “Come--speak out plainly.”

“The Marquis of Delmour, since you must know,” returned the old woman.

“And what did he do,” asked the man, impatiently.

“He gave me a cheque for six hundred pounds for a particular service

that I rendered him; and he also gave my daughter----”

“Ah! you have got a daughter, eh?” exclaimed Jack Rily. “Is she

anything like yourself?”

“She is as beautiful as an angel,” answered Mrs. Mortimer, a

scintillation of a mother’s pride flashing at the moment in her bosom:

“but as depraved and dissolute as a demoness,” she added almost

immediately. “Well, this Marquis of Delmour was wheedled by her out

of a cheque for sixty thousand pounds; and though my daughter kept it

quiet enough, I found out the secret. So away I sped--back to England I

came----”

“Where did all this happen, then?” demanded Jack.

“In Paris--three days ago,” replied Mrs. Mortimer. “On my arrival in

London, my course was easy----”

“You may almost say _natural_,” interrupted the Doctor. “I understand

the business plainly enough at present. You altered your six hundred

pound draft into one for sixty thousand--and you have thus forestalled

your daughter?”

“That is precisely how the matter stands,” said the old woman.

“And when is it likely that your daughter will be in London to present

_her_ cheque?” asked the Doctor.

“I should say that I had about twelve hours’ start of her,” was the

response; “and then, as she would not travel by night--having a

handsome young foreigner as her companion--the circumstance of her

stopping to sleep on the road would delay her pretty nearly another

twelve hours. Besides, she believes me to be still in Paris--she has

not the least idea of my sudden return to England; and therefore she

has no particular motive to induce her to adopt any extraordinary

speed.”

“Well, well,” cried the Doctor, impatiently: “but all this palaver does

not answer my question. When do you expect your daughter will reach

London?”

“This evening,” replied the old woman: “too late to present her

cheque at the bank. And there _are_ means--yes, there are means,” she

continued in a musing tone, “which, if skilfully adopted, would compel

my daughter to refrain from offering her draft at all, and likewise

force her to leave us in undisturbed possession of the money.”

“And those means?” demanded Jack Rily, his eyes brightening.

“Before I explain myself, let us come to a thorough understanding,”

said Mrs. Mortimer. “Will you restore me one-half of the amount you now

hold in your possession? I am content to abandon the other half to you.”

“Yes, that is a bargain,” answered Jack Rily; “for I see that you do

not relish the idea of living with me altogether, and that you will

leave me when this matter is properly settled. Is it not so?”

“Well, such is indeed my intention,” responded the old woman.

“Our relative position now stands in this manner,” continued Jack

Rily: “there are sixty thousand pounds’ worth of good notes. With all

my connexion amongst fences and receivers of such flimsy, I could not

manage to obtain gold for more than two or three thousand in the

course of the day; and to-morrow morning your daughter may present

her cheque, when a discovery will take place, and all the rest of

the notes will be useless. As for going over to the continent, and

endeavouring to pass them there, the thing would be ridiculous; for

the advertisements in the newspapers would put all the money-changers

in Europe upon their guard. Thus far, then, the notes are not worth

more than two or three thousand pounds to me. But, on the other hand,

you say that you have the means of stopping your daughter’s mouth, and

compelling her to put up with the loss. In this case, the whole amount

of notes becomes available; and therefore we will share and share

alike.”

“Then give me my moiety at once,” said the old woman, with greedy

impatience.

“No such thing!” ejaculated Rily: “I must have some guarantee that

you act properly in this business; and you can have no hesitation in

putting your trust in me, because you have had a proof of my good

feeling before. I have not forgotten that you saved my life in the

struggle with Vitriol Bob; and the same feeling that made me give

you half the spoil _then_, will prompt me to act with equal fairness

now. You are therefore at liberty to depart when you choose, and to

go where you like: the notes will remain in my possession--and when

you come back to me with the assurance that you have prevented your

daughter from taking any step that may lead to an explosion of the

whole business, your share shall be immediately forthcoming. I have now

put the matter in the proper light; and with such a good understanding,

there can be no quarrelling. As to whether you afterwards choose to

become my broom-stick wife, I must leave it entirely to yourself: for

though I should be as happy as a king in the possession of your old

person and sixty thousand pounds, yet I shall be able to console myself

for your loss by means of the thirty thousand that will remain to me.”

During this long tirade, all the first portion of which was delivered

in a tone of business-like seriousness, Mrs. Mortimer was hastily

reflecting upon the improvement that had so unexpectedly taken place

in the aspect of her affairs: for she now found herself at liberty to

leave the monster whom she loathed and abhorred, and she had every

chance of regaining and being able to make use of the moiety of the

Bank-notes.

She accordingly assented to the conditions proposed by the Doctor,

leaving the broom-stick marriage “an open question;” and having settled

her disordered attire, she took her departure--not however before she

had been compelled to submit to another hugging on the part of the

hare-lipped wretch whose caresses were so revolting and intolerable.