If you have any compassion in
your nature, and the smallest desire to hear a story that will curdle
your blood, you will find out the means of opening that door, and then I
will climb up to it and make one effort for freedom." "My good friend, I am very much afraid it would materially derange my
plans to do so." "Derange your what?" "My plans." "And are any plans to be placed in competition with my life and liberty? Oh, human nature--human nature, what a difference there is in you when
you are upon the right side of the door from what you are when you are
upon the wrong." "My friend," said Sir Richard Blunt, "that is a very philosophical
remark, and I compliment you upon it. But now answer me truly one
question, and for your own sake, and for the sake of justice, I beg you
to answer me truly." "What is it?" "Are you in present fear of death?" "No. Not while I continue to make the pies." "Very good!" "Very good? Now by all that's abominable, I only wish you had but to
make them here for one week, and at the same time know as much as I
know--I rather suspect that you would never say very good again." "One week?" "Yes, only a week." "Pray how long have you been here?" "I have lost count of the long weary days and the anxious nights. Oh,
sir, be you whom you may, do not sport with me, for I am very--very
wretched!" "If I could but be sure that you are a victim of the woman who lives
above," said Sir Richard. "Sure that I am a victim? Oh, God, you suspect me of being her
accomplice. Well, well, it is but natural, finding me here--I ought to
expect as much. What can I say--what can I do to convince you of the
contrary?" "Reveal all." "Do you not know then that--that--"

"That what? I may suspect much, but I know nothing." "Then--then--"

The man's voice sunk to a husky whisper, and when he had spoken a few
words there was a death-like silence between him and Sir Richard Blunt. The latter at length said--

"And you affirm this?" "I am willing to swear to it. Release me from here and take me to any
court of justice you please, and I will affirm it. If you have any
suspicion of my good faith, manacle me--bind me up in iron until I tell
all." "I am convinced." "Oh, joy, I shall look upon the blessed sun again. I shall see the green
fields--I shall hear the lark sing, and drink in the odour of sweet
flowers. I--I am not quite desolate." Sir Richard Blunt could hear him sobbing like a child. The magistrate
did not interrupt this burst of feeling. He was, on the contrary, quite
glad to be a witness of it, for it convinced him of the sincerity of the
man. He could not think it possible he should find attending upon Mrs.
Lovett's ovens so consummate an actor as it would have taken to play
that part. After a few moments, however, he spoke, saying--

"Now, my friend, are you one who will listen to reason in preference to
merely acting upon the feelings and suggestions of the moment?" "I hope so." "Well, then, I think I could set you free to-night, but to do so would
materially interfere with the course of that justice which is about
speedily to overtake Mrs. Lovett. By remaining here you will keep things
as they are for the present, and that, I assure you, is a great object. You say that while you continue making pies, your life is not in
positive peril; I ask of you, for the sake of justice, to put up with
your present position a short time longer." "Liberty is sweet." "It is, but you would not like such a woman as Mrs. Lovett to take the
alarm and escape the consequences of her crimes." "Oh! no--no. I will remain. For how long will it be?" "I cannot say exactly, but the time may be counted by hours, and not one
shall be lost. Have but a little patience, and I will come to you again. When next you hear my voice at the grating, it will be to give the
signal of liberty." "How can I thank you?" "Never mind that. Good night, and take care of yourself. All will be
well." "Good night. Good night." CHAPTER LVII. BIG BEN MAKES A DISCOVERY. At seven o'clock on the morning following these strange events, there
were early prayers at St. Dunstan's, and the bells called together the
devout at half-past six. Todd was there! Is the reader surprised? Has he
never yet in his mundane experience met with a case of sanctimonious
villany? Does he think that going to prayer is incompatible with such a
life as Todd's? Pho--pho! Live and learn. Todd met the beadle upon the
steps of the church. "Ah, Mr. T.," said that functionary. "It does one good to see you, that
it does--a deal of good. I say that, of all the tradesmen in Fleet
Street, you is the _piousest_." "We owe a duty to our creator," said Todd, "which all the pomps and
vanities of this world ought to make us neglect." "Have you heard o' the suicide in Norfolk Street?" Todd shook his head. "Why, the beadle of St. Clement's was asking of me only last night, what
sort of man you was." "I?" "Yes, to be sure. It's a gentleman as you went to shave, and as you lent
a razor to, as has cut his blessed throat in Norfolk Street." "God bless me," said Todd, "you don't mean that? Dear! dear! We are
indeed here to-day and gone to-morrow. How true it is that flesh is
grass;--and so the gentleman cut his throat with my razor, did he?" "Above a bit." "Well, well, it is to be hoped that the Lord will be merciful to the
little frailties of his creatures." "Conwulsions! Do you call that a little frailty?" Todd had passed on into the body of the church, and any minute observer
might have noticed, that when he got there, there was a manifest and
peculiar twitching of his nose, strongly resembling the evolutions of a
certain ex-chancellor. Then, in a low tone to himself, Todd muttered--

"They make a great fuss about the smell in St. Dunstan's, but I don't
think it is so very bad after all." Perhaps one of Todd's notions in going to early morning prayers was to
satisfy himself upon the point of the stench in the church. The morning
service was very short, so that Todd got back to his shop in ample time
to open it for the business of the day. He gave a glance at the window,
to be quite sure that the placard announcing the want of a pious lad was
there, and then with all the calmness in the world he set about
sharpening his razors. Not many minutes elapsed ere a man came in,
leading by the hand a boy of about thirteen years of age. "Mr. Todd," he said, "you want a lad." "Yes." "You don't know me, but I am Cork, the greengrocer in the market." "Oh," said Todd. "You see this is Fred, by the first Mrs. C., and the second Mrs. C.
thinks he'd better go out to something now; if you will take him
'prentice we will provide him, and he can run into our place for his
meals and tell us all the gossip of the shop, which will amuse Mrs. C.,
as she's in a delicate condition, and I have no doubt you will find him
just the lad for you." "Dear! dear!" said Todd. "What's the matter, Mr. T.?" "I'm so aggravated.--Is he pious?" "Decidedly." "Does he know his catechism and his belief?"