"No, my little chap, I didn't; but I don't care who knows it--it's my
'pinion that whosomedever his master was, old Sweeney Todd, your master,
knows more on him than most folks. Come away, Pison, will you?" The dog did not now show much disinclination to follow the ostler, but
he kept the waistcoat firmly in his grasp, as he left the shop after
him. Johanna still held that little scrap of paper in her hand, and oh! what a world of food for reflection did it present her with. Was it, or
was it not, an establishment of the fact of Mark Ingestrie having been
Todd's victim? That was the question that Johanna put to herself, as
through her tears, that fell like rain, she gazed upon that paper, with
those few words upon it, in the well-known hand of her lover. The more Johanna reflected upon this question, the more difficult a one
did she find it to answer in any way that was at all satisfactory to her
feelings. The strong presumption that Mark Ingestrie had fallen a victim
to Todd had not been sufficiently obliterated by all that Sir Richard
Blunt had said to her to free her mind from a strong bias to fancy
anything that transpired at Todd's a corroboration of that fact. "Yes," she said, mournfully, "yes, poor--poor Mark. Each day only adds
to my conviction that you became this man's victim, and that that fatal
String of Pearls, which you fondly thought would be a means of uniting
us together by removing the disabilities of want of fortune, has been
your death. That waistcoat, which your faithful dog has carried with
him, is another relic of you, and this scrap of paper is but another
link in the chain of circumstances that convinces me we shall never meet
again in this world." Poor Johanna was absolutely reasoning herself into an agony of grief,
when the door of the shop opened, and an old man with white hair made
his appearance. "Is Mr. Todd within?" he said. "No, sir," replied Johanna. "And is it possible," added the old man, straightening himself up, "that
I am disguised so well that even you do not know me, Johanna?" In a moment now she recognised the voice. It was that of Sir Richard
Blunt. "Oh, sir," she said, "I do indeed know you now, and I am very--very
wretched." "Has anything new occurred, Johanna, to produce this feeling?" "Yes, sir. The dog, that my heart tells me belonged to poor Mark, has
been over here, and with a rare instinct he found a piece of apparel, in
the pocket of which was this paper. It is in _his_ writing. I know it
too--too well to be denied. Ah, sir, you, even you, will no longer now
seek to delude me with false hopes. But do not tarry here, sir; Todd has
been long gone, and may at any chance moment come back again." "Be at rest upon that point, Johanna. He cannot come back without my
being made aware of it by my friends without. But tell me in what way
you attach such serious importance to this piece of paper, Johanna?" "In what way, my dear friend? Do I not say that it is in poor Mark's own
handwriting? How could it come here unless he brought it? Oh, sir, do
not ask me in what way I attach importance to it. Rather let me ask you
how, otherwise than upon the supposition of his having become one of
Todd's victims, can you account for its being here at all?" "Really," said Sir Richard, "this Mark Ingestrie must have been a very
forgetful young man." "Forgetful?" "Yes. It seems that it was necessary for him to carry your name and
address in his pocket. Now if he had given such a slip of paper as this
to another person for fear he should forget what was not so deeply
imprinted in his memory I should not have wondered at it for a moment." Johanna clasped her hands and looked the magistrate in the face, as she
said--

"Then, sir, you think--that is, you believe--that--that this is no proof
of poor Mark having been here?" "As I hope for mercy in Heaven, it is to my mind a proof the other way,
Johanna." She burst into a passion of hysterical weeping. Sir Richard Blunt knew
too much of human nature to interfere by word or gesture, with this
effort of nature to relieve the overchanged heart, and he waited
patiently, affecting to be looking upon some old prints upon the wall
until he heard the sobs decrease to sighs. Then he turned with a smile
to Johanna, and said--

"My dear girl, gather hope from that scrap of paper, not despair. Depend
upon it the address of your father held too conspicuous a place in the
heart of him who loved you to require that it should have been written
upon a piece of paper. You know that my theory on the subject is that
Mr. Thornhill was actually sent to you by Mark Ingestrie, and that it
was he who perished here." "And Mark himself--if that were so?" "His fate has still to be elucidated; but that he perished here I do not
believe, as I have often told you." "This is an exquisite relief," said Johanna, as she laid her hand upon
her heart. "Make much of it," said Sir Richard; "something even yet seems to tell
me that you will be happy. I cannot think it possible that Heaven would
permit such a man as Todd to destroy your earthly felicity. But how
comes the shop in such confusion?" "It was the dog. He would look everywhere, and I had not the heart nor
the strength to prevent him. Todd has a horror of him; and fright will
keep him quiet when I tell him the cause of the mischief that is done
here." "Perhaps then it will be better to leave it as it is," said Sir Richard,
"than awaken his suspicions by attempting to put the place to rights, in
which you might fail in some particulars known to him. And now tell me,
Johanna, what passed between him and this Mrs. Lovett?" "But a few words, sir, before I was sent out. There is one thing though
that I suspect, and that is that Mrs. Lovett has found out my secret." "Indeed?" "Yes, she regarded me with a strange gaze that made me feel that she
penetrated my disguise. I know not if she will say as much to Todd, but
one glance of his eye upon me when he returns will satisfy me upon that,
I think." At this moment a bugle sounded in Fleet Street. "That is my signal," said Sir Richard. "Todd is coming. I will be close
at hand, Johanna, lest Mrs. Lovett has told him your secret, and you
should find yourself in any danger. Farewell! Heaven hold you in its
keeping." CHAPTER XCIX. THE COOK FEELS THAT ALL THE WORLD NEGLECTS HIM, AND THEN HE GETS A
                                LETTER. Sir Richard Blunt left the shop, and Johanna had just time to conceal
the scrap of paper which she had found in the waistcoat, and to seem to
be busy at the fire, when Todd made his appearance. She had never seen
such a grim smile upon Todd's face as it now wore. He was for once in
his life fairly pleased. When had he made such a morning's work as that? Not even in his acquisition of those fatal Pearls had he gained so much
as by that one slight push that had sent Mrs. Lovett and her claims into
the river so neatly. No wonder Sweeney Todd was elated and delighted. He had all the money
now to himself.