"Yes; why it's the barber's boy." "It is the same lad he called Tobias--shall we speak to him?" "Let's make a bolder push, and offer him an ample reward for any
information he may give us." "Agreed, agreed." They both walked up to Tobias, who was listlessly walking along the
streets, and when they reached him, they were both struck with the
appearance of care and sadness that was upon the boy's face. He looked
perfectly haggard and careworn--an expression sad to see upon the face
of one so young; and, when the colonel accosted him in a kindly tone, he
seemed so unnerved that tears immediately darted to his eyes, although
at the same time he shrank back as if alarmed. "My lad," said the colonel, "you reside, I think, with Sweeney Todd, the
barber. Is he not a kind master to you, that you seem so unhappy?" "No, no--that is, I mean yes, I have nothing to tell. Let me pass on." "What is the meaning of this confusion?" "Nothing, nothing." "I say, my lad, here is a guinea for you, if you will tell us what
became of the man of a sea-faring appearance, who came with a dog to
your master's house, some days since, to be shaved." "I cannot tell you," said the boy, "I cannot tell you what I do not
know." "But, you have some idea, probably. Come, we will make it worth your
while, and thereby protect you from Sweeney Todd. We have the power to
do so, and all the inclination; but you must be quite explicit with us,
and tell us frankly what you think, and what you know concerning the man
in whose fate we are interested." "I know nothing, I think nothing," said Tobias. "Let me go, I have
nothing to say, except that he was shaved, and went away." "But how came he to leave his dog behind him?" "I cannot tell. I know nothing." "It is evident that you do know something, but hesitate either from fear
or some other motive to tell it; as you are inaccessible to fair means,
we must resort to others, and you shall at once come before a
magistrate, who will force you to speak out." "Do with me what you will," said Tobias, "I cannot help it. I have
nothing to say to you, nothing whatever. Oh, my poor mother, if it were
not for you--"

"What then?" "Nothing! nothing! nothing!" It was but a threat of the colonel to take the boy before a magistrate,
for he had really no grounds for so doing; and if the boy chose to keep
a secret, if he had one, not all the magistrates in the world could
force words from his lips that he felt not inclined to utter; and so,
after one more effort, they felt that they must leave him. "Boy," said the colonel, "you are young, and cannot well judge of the
consequences of particular lines of conduct; you ought to weigh well
what you are about, and hesitate long before you determine keeping
dangerous secrets: we can convince you that we have the power of
completely protecting you from all that Sweeney Todd could possibly
attempt. Think again, for this is an opportunity of saving yourself
perhaps from much future misery, that may never arise again." "I have nothing to say," said the boy, "I have nothing to say." He uttered these words with such an agonized expression of countenance,
that they were both convinced he had something to say, and that, too, of
the first importance--a something which would be valuable to them in the
way of information, extremely valuable probably, and yet which they felt
the utter impossibility of wringing from him. They were compelled to
leave him, and likewise with the additional mortification, that, far
from making any advance in the matter, they had placed themselves and
their cause in a much worse position, in so far as they had awakened all
Sweeney Todd's suspicions if he were guilty, and yet advanced not one
step in the transaction. And then, to make the matter all the more
perplexing, there was still the possibility that they might be
altogether upon a wrong scent, and that the barber of Fleet-street had
no more to do with the disappearance of Mr. Thornhill than they had
themselves. CHAPTER XI. THE STRANGER AT LOVETT'S. Towards the dusk of the evening of that day, after the last batch of
pies at Lovett's had been disposed of, there walked into the shop a man
most miserably clad, and who stood for a few moments staring with
weakness and hunger at the counter before he spoke. Mrs. Lovett was
there, but she had no smile for him, and instead of its usual bland
expression, her countenance wore an aspect of anger, as she forestalled
what the man had to say, by exclaiming--

"Go away, we never give anything to beggars." There came a flush of colour for the moment across the features of the
stranger, and then he replied--

"Mistress Lovett, I do not come to ask alms of you, but to know if you
can recommend me to any employment?" "Recommend you! recommend a ragged wretch like you?" "I am a ragged wretch, and, moreover, quite destitute. In better times I
have sat at your counter, and paid cheerfully for what I wanted, and
then one of your softest smiles has ever been at my disposal. I do not
say this as a reproach to you, because the cause of your smile was well
known to be a self-interested one, and when that cause had passed away,
I can no longer expect it; but I am so situated, that I am willing to do
anything for a mere subsistence." "Oh, yes, and then when you get into a better case again, I have no
doubt but you have quite sufficient insolence to make you unbearable;
besides, what employment can we have but pie-making, and we have a man
already who suits us very well with the exception that he, as you would
do if we were to exchange him, has grown insolent, and fancies himself
master of the place." [Illustration: The Stranger At Mrs. Lovett's Pie Shop.] "Well, well," said the stranger, "of course, there is always sufficient
argument against the poor and destitute to keep them so. If you will
assert that my conduct will be the nature you describe, it is quite
impossible for me to prove the contrary." He turned and was about to leave the shop, but Mrs. Lovett called after
him saying--

"Come in again in two hours." He paused a moment or two, and then, turning his emaciated countenance
upon her, said--

"I will if my strength permit me--water from the pumps in the street is
but a poor thing for a man to subsist upon for twenty-four hours." "You may take one pie." The half-famished, miserable-looking man seized upon a pie, and devoured
it in an instant. "My name," he said, "is Jarvis Williams; I'll be here, never fear, Mrs.
Lovett, in two hours; and, notwithstanding all you have said, you shall
find no change in my behaviour because I may be well kept and better
clothed; but if I should feel dissatisfied with my situation, I will
leave it, and no harm done." So saying, he walked from the shop, and when he was gone, a strange
expression came across the countenance of Mrs. Lovett, and she said in a
low tone to herself--

"He might suit for a few months, like the rest, and it is clear that we
must get rid of the one we have; I must think of it."