CHAPTER XXV

Fatal Consequences

It was nearly two hours before daybreak when Fagin sat watching in his old den, with face so pale and eyes so red that he looked less like a man than like a ghost.

Stretched upon a mattress on the floor fast asleep lay the young spy who had followed Nancy and overheard her secret conversation below London Bridge. Towards him the old man sometimes directed his eyes for an instant, and then brought them back. He was deeply occupied with his evil thoughts. His plan of discovering Nancy's new lover had failed; for she had none. He was full of hatred for her because she dared to have dealings with strangers, and he distrusted the sincerity of her refusal to yield him up. He was full of a deadly fear of being discovered.

He sat still for quite a long time until at last his quick ear seemed to be attracted by a footstep in the street. The bell rang gently; he crept to the door and presently returned with Bill Sikes, who carried a bundle under one arm.

"There!" he said, laying the bundle on the table. "Take care of that, and do the most you can with it. It's been trouble enough to get."

Fagin laid his hand upon the bundle and, locking it in the cupboard, sat down again without speaking. But he did not take his eyes off the robber, for an instant.

"What is it now?" growled Sikes. "What do you look at me like that for? Are you gone mad?"

"No, no," replied Fagin, "but I've got something to tell you that won't please you."

"What is it?" said the robber. "Speak, will you! Or if you don't, it shall be for lack of breath. Open your mouth and say what you've got to say in plain words. Out with it, you old dog, out with it!"

Fagin made no answer, but bending over the sleeper he pulled him into a sitting position.

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

"Tell you what?" asked the boy sleepily.

"That about ... nancy," said Fagin, holding 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 see before, who asked her to give up all her friends, and Monks first, which she did, and to tell her about the place where we met, which she did. She told it all, every word, did she not?" cried Fagin, half mad with fury.

"That's right," replied the boy. "That's just what it was!"

"What did they say about last Sunday?"

"They asked her," said the boy, "why she didn't come last Sunday, as she promised. She said she couldn't."

"Why ... why? Tell him that."

"Because she was forcibly kept at home by Bill," replied the boy.

"Hell's fire!" cried Sikes, breaking fiercely from the Jew. "Let me go!"

Pushing the old man away from him, he rushed from the room and darted up the stairs.

"Bill, Bill," cried Fagin, following him hastily. "A word. Only a word."

"Let me out," said Sikes. "Don't speak to me; it's not safe. Let me out, I say!"

"Hear me speak a word," said Fagin, laying his hand upon the lock. "You won't be ... too ... violent, Bill? I mean, not too violent for safety. Be cunning, Bill, and not too bold."

Sikes made no reply, but, pulling open the door, he rushed into the silent streets.

Without one pause, or a moment's consideration, and looking straight before him with savage determination, the robber rushed headlong to his home. Opening the door softly he stepped lightly up the stairs, and entering his own room, double-locked the door and pushed a heavy table against it.

The girl was lying half-dressed upon the bed. He had roused her from her sleep, for she raised herself with a hurried and frightened 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 threw it into the fireplace. Seeing the faint light of early day outside, the girl rose to undraw the curtain.

"Let it be," said Sikes. "There's light enough for what I've got to do."

"Bill," said the girl, in the low voice of alarm, "why do you look like this at me?"

The robber stood regarding her for a few seconds, breathing quickly, then, grasping her by the hand and throat, dragged her into the middle of the room, and placed his heavy hand upon her mouth.

"Bill, Bill!" gasped the girl, struggling with the strength of deadly fear. "I won't scream or cry. Hear me ... speak to me ... tell me what I have done!"

"You know, you she-devil!" returned the robber. "You were watched tonight; every word you said was heard."

"Then spare my life for the love of Heaven, as I spared yours," said the girl, throwing her arms around him. "Bill, dear Bill, you cannot have the heart to kill me. Oh! think of all I have given up, only tonight, for you. You shall have time to think, and save yourself from this crime. I will not loosen my hold, you cannot throw me off. Bill, Bill, for dear God's sake, for your own, for mine, stop before you spill my blood. I have been true to you, upon my soul I have!"

The housebreaker freed one arm and grasped his pistol. Even in the midst of his fury he realized that it would be dangerous to fire. He beat it twice with all his force upon the upturned face that almost touched his own.

She fell nearly blinded with the blood that rained down from a deep cut in her forehead. But raising herself with difficulty on her knees, she breathed one prayer for mercy to her Maker.

Hers was a terrible figure to look upon. The murderer stepped backward to the wall and, shutting out the sight with his hand, seized a heavy stick and struck her down.