Still shaking at the bare remembrance of the danger that he had run, the
man left the church; and peeping over his shoulder every now and then as
he went, for fear Todd should be close at hand, he took his route to
quite a different quarter of the town, where he fancied he should feel
more secure; for he could not make up his mind to anything but that Todd
must have some special desire to lay hold of him, and add him to the
already formidable muster-roll of his victims. When he left the church, Sir Richard Blunt turned to Crotchet, and
said--

"Crotchet, you may depend, now, that Todd is in London, and fancies that
among its crowds will be his greatest chance of safety. I will take
measures at once to discover him. Come along with me to Craven-street,
and you too, Green, and I will explain to you both what I think will be
the best plan to adopt." "All's right, sir; we'll have him," said Crotchet. "I think we shall," said Green, "for, large as London is, I rather think
we know how to search it as well as most folks. I attend you, sir, and I
will run any risk in the world to take the scoundrel prisoner." "And so will I," said Crotchet. "I know you both well," said Sir Richard, "and I cannot desire to be
aided by better men than you both are. Come on. I will not speak further
of any plans or projects except in my own office, where I know that
there are no spies or eaves-droppers." "This blessed church is pretty safe," said Crotchet. "It ain't very
likely that anybody is on the listening lay in it. It would be rather
cold work, I take it. But, howsomdever, there's nothing like being on
the right side of the hedge, and in one's own crib, that one knows all
the ins and all the outs of, after all." They both followed Sir Richard Blunt from the church, and Todd felt that
he was once again alone within that sacred edifice, the very atmosphere
of which was profaned by the presence of such a wretch, so loaded with
crimes as he was. "Gone," said Todd, looking up put of the pulpit, "and may all--"

We cannot repeat the maledictions of Todd. They were additionally awful
spoken in such a building, and from such a place in that building. It
was dreadful that the roof of a place reared to the worship of God,
should be desecrated by the raving curses of such a man as Todd. He was silent after he had satisfied his first ebullition of rage, and
then he was afraid that he had gone too far, and endangered his safety
by making an appearance at all above the level of the pulpit, or by
speaking. How did he know but that Sir Richard Blunt might, after all,
have some sort of suspicion that he was not far off, and be listening
close at hand? As this supposition, wild and vague as it was, and quite unsupported by
any evidence, found a home in the brain of Todd, the perspiration of
intense fear broke out upon his brow, and again he shook to the extent
of making the old pulpit creak dreadfully. "Oh, hush! hush!" he moaned. "Be still--be still. I am safe yet. There
is no one here. I am safe, surely. There is no one in the church. Why do
I suffer more, much more, from what does not happen, than from what
does?" Still the notion clung to him for a little while, and he remained at the
bottom of the pulpit quite needlessly for the next half hour, listening
with all his might, in order to detect the slightest noise that might be
indicative of the presence of a foe. But all was as still as the grave,
and by slow degrees Sweeney Todd got more assured. "I breathe again," he said. "They do not suspect that I am here. It is
much too unlikely a place for them to dream of for a moment. Even Sir
Richard Blunt, with his utmost prescience, does not think of looking for
me in the pulpit of St. Dunstan's Church. I am safe--I am safe for the
present." He agreed with this feeling that he was quite alone in the church, and
he was right. He looked over the edge of the pulpit. How still and
solemn the place looked! The morning had advanced quite sufficiently now to shed a dim light into
the church, and the noise in the street contingent upon the fire had
nearly passed away. The fact was, that the firemen had, after making a
few efforts and finding them of no use, let Todd's house burn to the
ground, and turned all their efforts towards saving the edifices on
either side. In that object they were successful, so that the
conflagration was over, and nothing remained but the frail wall of
Todd's house. And so the clank of the engine-pumps no longer sounded in his ears, but
he could yet be certain that there was a great crowd in Fleet Street,
for he heard the hum of voices, and occasionally the trouble that ensued
when a vehicle tried to force its way through the dense mass of people
that blocked up the thoroughfare, which at the best of times was none of
the clearest. "Is there a chance now of escape," said Todd, "if I could only make up
my mind to it? I do not forget that I am disguised--I ought not to
forget that. Who will know me? and yet that man knew me--that man that I
missed killing at the old place. Yes, he knew me. He said he could swear
to me. Confound him! I wish I could have sworn to his dead body. I
wonder if they have left the church-door open, or, rather, only upon the
latch? I--I will descend from here, and make a bold attempt." He opened the pulpit-door, and had got about three steps down the little
ornamental flight of winding stairs that led from the pulpit to the body
of the building, when the church-door was suddenly opened, and he fled
back with a precipitation that made some noise, when he might have done
so in perfect quietness, for it was not very likely that any one would
have looked up to the pulpit immediately upon their entrance to the
building. A glance towards the door convinced Mr. Todd that it was the beadle. "Oh, dear, I thought I heard something," said the beadle, as he closed
the door after him. "But I suppose it was only fancy, after all. Now
they say that all the fire is out, and that it is quite impossible for
the church to be blowed up, I suppose I may come in without any danger. Lor bless us, that Sir Richard Blunt, I do believe, would think no more
of blowing up a beadle, than he would of eating a penny bun, that's my
opinion of him." "Curses on your head!" muttered Todd. "Bless me, what a world we live in," said the beadle. "Wretch--beast," muttered Todd; "what does he want here at this time of
day?" "Yes, to-morrow's Sunday," said the beadle, as if pursuing a train of
thought that had found a home in his brain. "How the weeks do run round,
to be sure, and one Sunday comes after another at such a rate, that it
seems as if there was weeks and weeks and weeks of 'em, without any of
the other days at all. I wish I hadn't to come here." Todd uttered faintly some dreadful imprecations, and the beadle
continued talking to himself to keep his courage up, as was evident from
his nervous and fidgetty manner. "Ah, dear, me. Conwulsions!