"A busy hour--a hour of broad daylight, and I with such
a price upon my head, and the hands of all men lifted against me, in one
of the most populous streets in the City of London! It is a fearful
risk!" It was a fearful risk, and Todd might well shudder to find that his
temerity had brought him into such a position; but yet he felt that if
anything were to save him, it would be boldness, and not shrinking
timidity. One great cause of dread had passed away from Todd when Sir
Richard Blunt left the church. If in any way Todd had had to encounter
him, he would have shrunk back appalled at the frightful risk. When he gained the body of the church, he glanced again up to the
pulpit, but all was there profoundly still; and the fact of the death of
the beadle appeared to him, Todd, to be so very firmly established, now,
as to require no further confirmation. Although the beadle had closed the church door, he had placed the key,
most probably for security, in the inner side of the lock, and there
Todd found it. He thought it would be a good thing to put it in his
pocket, and he did so accordingly; and when the key was removed, he
placed his eye to the keyhole, and peeped out into Fleet Street. Todd could see the people passing quickly, but no one cast a glance
towards the old church, and he began to reason with himself, that surely
there could be no difficulty in getting into the street quite unnoticed,
if not quite unobserved. Again he told himself that he was well
disguised. "I dread no eye," he said, "but that of Sir Richard Blunt, and he is not
here to look upon me. There is not one else, I think, in London that
would know me through this disguise. There was never but one who could
do so, and she is dead. Yes, Mrs. Lovett might have known me, but she is
no more: so I will venture. Yes, I will venture now." His heart failed him a little as he placed his hand upon the lock of the
church-door. It well might do so, for the risk he run, or was about to
run, was truly fearful. He was on the point of sallying out among a
population, the whole of whom were familiar with his name, and to whom
he was as a being accursed, who would upon the slightest hint of
identity be gladly hunted to the death. Truly, Todd might well hesitate. But yet to hesitate was perhaps to be lost. How could he tell now one
moment from another when some one might come to the church-door? and
then he would be in a worse position than before. Yes, he felt that he
must make the attempt to leave, whether that attempt should involve him
in destruction or not, for to stay were far worse. He opened the door and coolly closed it again, and marched into Fleet
Street. We say he did this coolly, but it were better to say that he acted a
coolness that he was far from feeling. A very tempest of terror was at
his heart. His brain for a moment or two felt like a volcano, and he
reeled as he felt himself in the broad open light of day in Fleet Street
among the throng of the population, and yet in that throng was in truth
his greatest safety. "Ain't you well, sir?" said a man. Todd started and placed his hand upon the knife that he had handy in his
pocket; and then he thought that after all it might only be a civil
inquiry, and he replied--

"Oh, yes, thank you--thank you, sir. But I am old." "I beg your pardon, sir." The man passed on. "Oh, curse you! I should like to settle you," said Todd to himself as he
passed through Temple Bar; but what a relief it was to pass through
Temple Bar at all! To leave that now frightfully dangerous Fleet Street
behind him. Oh, yes, that was a relief indeed; and Todd felt as if some
heavy weight had been taken off his heart upon the moment that he set
foot in the Strand. "Am I safe?" he muttered. "Am I safe? Oh, no, no. Do not let me be too
confident." He was superstitiously afraid of pluming himself upon the fact of having
got so far in safety, lest at the moment that he did so, malignant
destiny might be revenged upon him, by bringing in his way some one who
might know him, even though his capital disguise; so he went on
tremblingly. Todd did not like large open thoroughfares now, and yet, perhaps, if he
had set to work reasoning upon the subject, he would have come to the
conclusion that they were quite as safe, if not a few degrees safer for
him, than by-streets but there was something in the glaring publicity of
such a thoroughfare as the Strand that he shrunk from, and he was glad
to get from it into the gloomy precincts of Holywell Street. That street then, as now, was certainly not the resort of the most
choice of the population of London, but Todd liked it, and he was
wonderfully attracted by a dirty-looking little public-house which was
then in it. A murder was committed in that house afterwards, and it lost
its licence, and was eventually destroyed by fire. "Dare I go in here?" said Todd. "I am faint for want of food, and if I
do not have something soon I feel that I shall sink, and then there will
be a fuss, and who knows what horrible discovery might then take place? This house is dark and gloomy, and in all likelihood is the resort of
gentlemen who are not in the habit of having any superfluous questions
asked of them; so it will suit me well." He dived in at the narrow doorway, and found himself in one of the
smallest and darkest public-houses that he had ever beheld in all his
life, for although he had lived so long in Fleet Street so close at
hand, he had never ventured into that den. "A nice parlour to the right, sir," said a rather masculine-looking
specimen of the fair sex in the bar. "Thank you, madam." Todd went to the right, and opening a little door, which, in consequence
of having a cord and pulley attached to it, made a great resistance, he
entered a little grimy room, the walls of which were of wainscot, but so
begrimed with tobacco smoke were they, that they were of the colour of
the darkest rose-wood, and the ceiling in no way differed from them in
tint. A fire was burning in a little wretched grate, and the floor was
covered with coarse sand, which crackled under Todd's feet. The furniture of this little den, which certainly had the name of
'Parlour' from courtesy only, consisted of the coldest-looking rigid
wooden chairs and tables that could be imagined. Two men sat by the fire
trying to warm themselves, for a cold wind was blowing in the streets of
London, and the season was chilly and wintry for the time of the year. Todd, when he found the parlour had some one in it, would gladly have
effected a retreat; but to do so, after he had made his way into the
middle of the room, would have only aroused suspicion, so he resolved to
go on, and carry the affair through; and for greater safety, he put on a
very infirm aspect, and appeared to be bent double by age and disease. He coughed dreadfully. "You don't seem to be very well, sir," said one of the men. "Oh, dear me, no," said Todd.