CHAPTER CLVI.

SIR RICHARD BLUNT IS VERY NEAR TAKING HIS PRISONER.

We left the poor beadle in anything but a pleasant situation in the

pulpit of St. Dunstan's Church.

Now it so happened that the beadle was particularly wanted at home; and

as he did not make his appearance, his wife repaired to the church to

search for him; but it was locked by Todd, who had swung the door shut

after him, and as he had taken the key with him, she could not make her

way into the sacred edifice.

As she stood at the door, however, she distinctly heard deep groans

issuing from some one within the church; and in a state of great alarm,

she ran off to one of the churchwardens, who had a duplicate key, and

related what she had heard.

The churchwarden not being one of the most valorous of men, rather, upon

the whole, declined to go into the church with no other escort than the

beadle's wife; and as he, too, upon listening at the key-hole, heard the

groans distinctly, he called upon the passers-by to assist, and got

together quickly enough about twenty people to go into the church with

him.

"Gentlemen," he said, "I don't know what it is, but there's groans; and

in these horrid times, when, for all we know, Sweeney Todd is about the

neighbourhood, one can't be too cautious."

"Certainly," said everybody.

"Then, gentlemen, if we all go in together when I open the door, it will

be the very best plan."

This was duly agreed to; and the churchwarden, with a trembling hand,

turned his key in the lock, and opened the door. He then stepped aside,

and let all the crowd go in first, thinking that, as he was a man in

office, the parish could not afford to lose him, in case anything

serious should happen.

"Well, gentlemen," he cried, "what is it?"

"Nothing," said everybody.

"Then I will soon let nothing see that I, a churchwarden, am not to be

frightened with impunity--that is to say, when I say frightened, I don't

exactly mean that, but astonished, I mean. Come, come--if any one be

here, I call upon them to surrender in the king's name!"

A deep groan was the only response to this valorous speech; and the

moment the churchwarden heard it, he bolted out of the church, and ran

right across the way into a shop opposite.

For a moment or two, this precipitate retreat of the churchwarden had

something contagious in it, and the whole of the men who had been

induced to stop and go into the church with him were inclined to retreat

likewise; but curiosity detained some three of four of them, and that

gave courage to the others.

"What was it?" said one.

"A groan," said another; "and it came from the pulpit."

"The pulpit!" cried everybody.

"Who ever heard of a pulpit groaning?" cried a third.

"You stupid!" cried the second speaker: "might it not be some one in the

pulpit?--and--Oh Lord--there's a head!"

At this they all took to flight; but at the door they encountered a man,

who called out--

"What's the matter? Can't you tell a fellow what the blessed row

is--eh?"

This was no other than our old friend Crotchet, who was returning from a

conference with Sir Richard Blunt at his private office in Craven

Street.

"Oh, it's a ghost! A ghost!"

"A what?"

"A ghost in the pulpit, and there is his head."

"You don't say so?" said Crotchet, as he peered into the church, and

shading his eyes with his hand, saw the beadle's head just peeping over

the side of the pulpit in a most mysterious kind of way. "I'll soon have

him out, ghost or no ghost."

Courage is as contagious as fear, especially when somebody else

volunteers to run all the risk; and so when Crotchet said he would soon

have the somebody out of the pulpit, the whole crowd followed him into

the church, applauding him very greatly for his prowess, and declaring

that if he had not then arrived, they would soon have had the ghost or

no ghost out of the sacred building, that they would. But they kept

within a few paces of the door for all that, so that they might be ready

for a rush into Fleet Street, if Mr. Crotchet should be overcome in the

adventure.

That was only prudent.

But Crotchet was not exactly the man to be overcome in any adventure,

and with an utter oblivion of all fear, he marched right into the middle

of the church, and commenced the ascent of the pulpit stairs.

"Come--come," said Crotchet. "This won't do, Mr. Ghost, if you please;

just let me get hold of you, that's all."

"Oh!" groaned the beadle.

"Oh, yer is remarkably bad, is yer? but that sort of thing won't answer,

by no means. Where is yer?"

Crotchet opened the pulpit door, and reaching in his hand, he caught

hold of the beadle by the leg, and fairly dragged him out on to the

little spiral stairs, down which he let him roll with a great many

bumps, until he landed in the body of the church all over bruises.

"Why, goodness gracious!" cried the beadle's wife, "it's my wretch of a

husband after all!"

The beadle had just strength to assume a sitting posture, and then he

cried--"Murder!--murder!--murder!" until Mr. Crotchet, seizing a cushion

from a pew, held it up before his mouth, to the imminent danger of

choking him, and said--

"Hold your row! If you wants to be murdered, can't you get it done

quietly, without alarming of all the parish? If you has got anything to

say, say it; and if you has got nothink, keep it to yourself, stupid."

"Todd!" gasped the beadle, the moment the pew-cushion was withdrawn from

his mouth. "Todd--Sweeney Todd!"

"What?" cried Crotchet.

"Here!--he has been here, and I'm a dead man--no, I'm a beadle. Oh,

murder! murder!"

"Don't begin that again. Be quiet, will you? If you have got anything to

say about Todd, say it, for I'm the very man of all the world as wants

to hear it. Speak up, and don't wink."

"Oh, I've seen him. He's been here. I came to dust the bellowses, you

see, after my wife had thrown the pulpit at my head, for asking her to

come with me."

"Oh, he's a-raving gentlemen," said the wife. "As I'm a sinner, it was

the bellowses as I throwed at his stupid head, and not the pulpit as

never was."

"Go on," said Crotchet. "Confound the pulpit and the bellows too. It's

about Todd I want to hear. Drive on, will you?"

"Oh, yes. I'm a coming to that; but it curdles my blood, and makes my

wig stand on end. I had dusted the communion table, and banged the

cushions, and up I goes to the pulpit, meaning to do for that as soon as

I could, when who should be there but Sweeney Todd!"

"In the pulpit!" cried everybody.

"In the pulpit," said the beadle.

"Why didn't you nab him at once?" roared Crotchet.

"Because, my good friend, he nabbed me at once. He laid hold of me by

this leg--no, it was this--no it wasn't. It was this--that is--no--"

"Confound both your legs! Where is he now?"

"Why, really I can't exactly say, for after stamping upon my inside for

about half an hour, he left me for dead, and I was about half gone that

way, and I have been a groaning ever since, till now. I am going

fast--very fast, and there will be an election for beadle again in this

here parish. Oh dear--oh dear! Murder--murder--mur--"

"What, you is coming that agin, is you," cried Crotchet, as he again

caught up the pew-cushion. "I shall be obligated, after all, for to push

this down your blessed throat. Hold your noise, will you, Mr.

What's-your-name."

The beadle was so terrified at the idea of the pew-cushion again nearly

smothering him, that despite all his injuries, he sprang to his feet and

bolted out of the church.

"Well, did yer ever know sich a feller?" said Crotchet. "Why, one would

think he was afraid of Todd."

The spectators thought that nothing was more probable; and as Mr.

Crotchet considered that he had got all the information he was at all

likely to get from the beadle, he did not at all trouble himself to go

after him, but after considering for a few moments, decided upon seeking

Sir Richard Blunt, and telling him that he had heard some unexpected

news of Todd.

Crotchet knew where to pitch upon Sir Richard at once; and when he

related to him what had taken place, a look of great chagrin came over

the face of the magistrate.

"Crotchet," he said, "I have missed Todd, then, by what may be

considered a hair's breadth. He must have been in the pulpit while I was

in the church alone. Oh, that I could but for a moment have guessed as

much! You, if you recollect, Crotchet, were in the vaults, and I was

waiting for you."

"To be sure, Sir Richard."

"And so the rascal was almost within arm's length, and yet escaped me."

Sir Richard Blunt paced to and fro in an agony of impatience and regret.

To be so near apprehending Todd, and yet to miss him, was truly

terrific.

"Lor, sir," said Crotchet, "what's the use of fretting and pining about

it? That won't bring it back, sir, I can tell you. After all, sir, you

can't do better than grin and bear it, you know, which is the out and

outest policy on all these here occasions, you know, yer worship. I wish

as I'd a knowed he'd been in the church as much as you do; but you don't

see me a _cussin_ and a knocking my own head about it, no how."

"You are right, Crotchet, but in good truth it is most desperately

provoking. You will proceed as I have directed you, and I will run down

to Norfolk Street river, for fear Todd should try to escape us that way.

You will be so good, Crotchet, as to be as vigilant as possible. You

know how to find me if you want me."

"Rather, sir."

At this moment, and just as Crotchet was upon the point of leaving the

room, an officer brought in a little slip of paper to Sir Richard Blunt,

upon which was the word "Ben."

"Ben--Ben?" said Sir Richard, "who is Ben? Oh, I think I know. Pray show

him in at once. It is my friend the beef-eater, from the Tower."

"Easy does it," said Ben, popping his head in at the door of the room.

"Easy does it."

"So it does, Ben. Come in. I am glad to see you. You can go, Crotchet.

Pray be seated, Ben, and tell me how I can serve you in any way, my good

friend, and you may be assured that I shall have exceeding pleasure in

doing so, if I possibly can in any way."

"Lord bless you," said Ben, "I hardly knows. There's ups and downs in

this here world, and ins and outs."

"Not a doubt of it, Ben."

"And retreats within retreats, Sir Richard, and foxes, and laughing

hyenas, as you can't concilliorate no how, if you wollop 'em till you

can't wollop 'em no more."

"Precisely, Ben. If I were a hyena, I don't exactly think, do you know,

that such a process would conciliate me."

"Oh, dear yes--it's the only way. But what I've come about, Sir Richard,

is what I calls a delicate affair. Oh, dear yes--I tries to take it easy

but I can't--I'm--I'm--"

"What, Ben?"

"I'm in love! Oh!"

"Well, Ben, there is no great wonder in that. I have been in love

myself, and I believe very few indeed escape the soft impeachment. I

hope your love is prosperous, Ben?"

"Thank you kindly, Sir Richard, thank you; but, you see, I thought you

might tell me if there was any vice or natural kicking running in the

family, and that's why I comed here."

"I tell you, Ben? Why I don't even know the name of the family."

"Yes, you does, Sir Richard. The young woman as I fell in love with, is

Miss Julia Hardman, and her father is one of those chaps as nabs the bad

un's for you, you know, Sir Richard."

"One of my officers?"

"To be sure he is."

"Does he reside in Norfolk Street, Strand?"

"Does he? Ay, he does; and that's how I came to know the little morsel

of a cretur as has made for the first time an impression upon my heart.

Oh, Ben, Ben, little could anybody think as you was a marrying sort of

person, and here you is in love with Miss Julia!"

"It does seem to me a little extraordinary, Ben, for I must confess I

have heard you say some rather severe things against the married state."

"I have--I have; and if it hadn't a been for all the marrying set-out

with those two girls, Johanna and Arabella, I never should have got sich

a idea in my head. Howsomedever, there it is, and there it is likely to

remain. It's a agravation, but there it is!"

"And how did you get acquainted with Julia Hardman?"

"Oh, dear! There's a public house at the corner of her street, and after

I had been to Cousin Oakley's, I used to go there at times and get a

drain of something, you see, and then she used to come tripping in with

a mug for the family beer, you see; and once it rained, so I took her up

and carried her home beer and all, and that was how we got acquainted,

you see, Sir Richard."

"A very natural way too, Ben. All I can say is, that I know her father

to be a very worthy man indeed, and I believe the daughter is a good and

virtuous girl."

"You don't say so? Then as there's no vice and kicking, I do believe I

shall have to marry her out of hand."