Gasp--gasp--gasp--bubble--gasp--bubble.--Ah! ah! ah!--Goggle--goggle. A
slight convulsive movement of the lashes, and the eyes set, and became
opaquely dim. The warm blood still bubbled, but John Mundell was dead. Todd picked up the pearls and carefully replaced them in his bosom
again. "How many strange events," he said, "hang upon these baubles. Ah, it's
only one more--a dirty job rather--but business is business!" He stood in the room as silent as a statue, and listened intently. Not
the slightest sound indicative of the proximity of any one came upon his
ears. He felt quite convinced that the deed of blood had been done in
perfect secrecy. But then there he was.--Who but he could be accused? There he stood, the self-convicted murderer. Had he not done the deed
with the weapon of his handicraft that he had brought to the house? How
was Todd to escape the seeming inevitable cold-blooded murder? We shall
see. Huddled up in the chair, was the dead body. Mundell had not fallen
out of the capacious easy seat in which he sat when he breathed his
last. The blood rolled to the floor, where it lay in a steaming mass. Todd was careful--very careful not to tread in it, and he looked down
his garments to see if there were any tell-tale spots of gore; but
standing behind the chair to do the deed, as he had done, he had been
saved from anything of the sort. There he stood, externally spotless,
like many a seeming and smirking sinner in this world--but oh, how black
and stained within! "Humph!" said Todd; "John Mundell was half distracted by a heavy loss. He was ill, and his mind was evidently affected. He could not even shave
himself. Oh, it is quite evident that John Mundell, unable to bear his
miseries, real or ideal, any longer, in a fit of partial insanity, cut
his throat. Yes, that will do." Todd still kept the razor in his grasp. What is he going to do?--Murder
again the murdered?--Is he afraid that a man,

    "With twenty murders on his head!" will jostle him from his perilous pinnacle of guilty safety?--No. He
takes one of the clammy dead hands in his own--he clasps the half rigid
fingers over the handle of the razor, and then he holds them until, in
the course of a minute or so, they have assumed the grasp he wishes, and
the razor, with which he, Todd, did the deed of blood, is held
listlessly, but most significantly, in the hand of the dead. [Illustration: The Murder Of The Usurer.] "That will do," said Todd. The door is reached and unfastened, and the barber slips out of the
room. He closes the door again upon the fetid hot aroma of the blood
that is there, fresh from the veins of a human being like
himself--no--no--not like himself.--No one can be like Sweeney Todd. He
is a being of his own species--distinct, alone, an incarnation of evil! Todd was in no particular hurry to descend the stairs. He gained the
passage with tolerable deliberation, and then he heard voices in the
parlour. "What a man you are!" said Mrs. Blisset. "Ah, my dear, I am indeed. Who would not be a man for your sake? As for
Mr. Blisset, I don't think him worth attention." "Nor I," said the lady, snapping her fingers, "I don't value him that. The poor mean-spirited wretch--he's not to be compared to you, captain." "I should think not, my love. Have you got any change in your pocket?" "Yes. I--I-think I have about seven shillings or so." "That will do. Much obliged to you, madam--I mean, my dear Mrs. B. Ah,
if you would but smother Blisset, so that I might have the joy of making
you Mrs. Captain Coggan, what a happy man I should be." Todd tapped at the door. "What was that?" cried the captain in evident alarm; "Is it Blisset?" "No, captain--oh, no; I should like to see him interrupt me, indeed. A
pretty thing that I cannot do what I like in the house I keep. Come in." Todd just opened the door far enough to introduce his hideous head; and
having done so, stared at the pair with such a selection of frightful
physiognomical changes, that they both sat transfixed with horror. At
length Todd broke the silence by saying--

"He's frightfully nervous." "What?--what?--who?" gasped the captain. "What?" repeated Mrs. Blisset. "What's his name, upstairs, that I was sent for to shave just now." "What, Mr. Mundell. Ah, poor man, he has been in a very nervous state
ever since he has been here. He continually talks of a heavy loss he has
had." "Yes," said Todd, "I suppose he means you to pay me." "Me?" "Yes, ma'am. He says he is too nervous and excited for me to shave him
just now, but he has borrowed a razor from me and says he will shave
himself in the course of an hour or so, and send it back to me." "Oh, very well. Your money will be sent with the razor, no doubt; for
although Mr. Mundell is so continually talking of his losses, they tell
me he is as rich as a Jew." "Thank you, ma'am. Good morning; good morning, sir." The captain cast a supercilious glance upon Todd, but did not deign to
make the remotest reply to the mock civility with which he was bidden
good morning. No one stands so much upon his dignity, as he whose title
to any at all is exceedingly doubtful. The female heart, however, is
mollified by devotion, and Mrs. Blisset returned the adieu of Todd. When
he got into the passage, he uttered one of his extraordinary laughs, and
then opening the street door, he let himself out. Todd by no means
hurried back to Fleet Street, but as he walked along he now and then
shrugged his shoulders and shook his huge hands, which, to those
acquainted with his peculiarities, would have been sufficient
indications of the fact that he was enjoying himself greatly. At length
he spoke--

"So--so--what a Providence we have, after all, watching over us. The
moment I am in any real danger as regards the string of pearls, up
starts some circumstance that enables me to ward it off. Well, well,
some day I almost think I shall turn religious and build a church, and
endow it. Ha!" Todd was so tickled at the idea of his building a church and endowing
it, that he stopped at the corner of Milford Lane, to enjoy an unusual
amount of laughter; as he did so he saw no other than Mrs. Ragg, slowly
coming towards him. "Ah," he said, "Tobias's mother. The mother of the Tobias that was!--I
will avoid her." He darted on, and was through Temple Bar before Mrs. Ragg could make up
her mind which way to run, for run she fully intended to do, when she
saw Todd standing at the corner of Milford Lane. But she had no occasion
for hurrying from him, as he walked in the direction of his shop as
speedily as possible. Although he was perfectly satisfied with the
clever manner he had ridded himself of the usurer, who probably might
have been a source of annoyance to him, and who might eventually have
been the means of bringing him to justice, he thought that he might be
losing opportunities of making more victims for the accumulation of his
ill-gotten wealth. CHAPTER LIV. SIR RICHARD BLUNT'S PROGRESS.