Meantime, the Resurrection Man pursued one route, and the Cracksman another, both converging towards the same point; but neither individual suspected that danger was on every side! They advanced as confidently as the flies that work their way amidst the tangled web of the spider.
At length the Resurrection Man reached his house; and almost at the same moment the other ruffian arrived at the door.
"All right, Tom."
"All right, Tony."
And the Resurrection Man opened the door, by simply pressing his foot forcibly against it in a peculiar manner.
He entered the passage, followed by the Cracksman, which latter individual turned to close the door, when it was burst wide open and half a dozen policemen rushed into the house.
"Damnation!" cried the Resurrection Man; "we are sold!"—and, darting down the passage, he rushed into the little back room, the door of which he succeeded in closing and fastening against the officers.
But the Cracksman had fallen into the hands of the police, and was immediately secured. Rattles were sprung; and the sudden and unexpected din, breaking upon the solemn silence of the place and hour, startled the poor and the guilty in their wretched abodes.
"Break open the door there!" cried the serjeant who commanded the police, and who was no other than the mysterious stranger of the Dark-House parlour: "break open that door—and two of you run up stairs this moment!"
As he spoke, a strong light shone from the top of the staircase. The officers cast their eyes in that direction, and beheld a hideous old woman scowling down upon them. In her hand she carried a candle, the light of which was thrown forward in a vivid flood by the reflection of a huge bright tin shade.
This horrible old woman was the Mummy.
Already were two of the officers half-way up the staircase—already was the door of the back room on the ground floor yielding to the strength of a constable—already were Richard Markham and several officers hurrying down the street towards the spot, obedient to the signal conveyed by the springing of the rattles—when a terrific explosion took place.
"Good God!" ejaculated Markham: "what can that mean?"
"There—there!" cried a policeman near him: "it is all over with the serjeant and my poor comrades!"
Immediately after the explosion, and while Markham and the officer were yet speaking, a bright column of fire shot up into the air:—millions and millions of sparks, glistening vividly, showered down upon the scene of havoc;—for a moment—a single moment—the very heavens seemed on fire;—then all was black—and silent—and doubly sombre.
The den of the assassins had ceased to exist: it had been destroyed by gunpowder.
The blackened remains and dismembered relics of mortality were discovered on the following morning amongst the ruins, or in the immediate neighbourhood;—but it was impossible to ascertain how many persons had perished on this dread occasion.
CHAPTER LXVII.
SCENES IN FASHIONABLE LIFE.
TWO months elapsed from the date of the preceding event.
It was now the commencement of March; and bleak winds had succeeded the hoary snows of winter.
The scene changes to the house of Sir Rupert Harborough, in Tavistock Square.
It was about one o'clock in the afternoon. The baronet was pacing the drawing-room with uneven steps, while Lady Cecilia lounged upon the sofa, turning over the pages of a new novel.
"Now this is most provoking, Cecilia," exclaimed the baronet: "I never was so much in want of money in my life; and you refuse to adopt the only means which——"
"Yes, Sir Rupert," interrupted the lady impatiently; "I refuse to give you my diamonds to pledge again—and all your arguments shall never persuade me to do so."
"Your heart is too good, Cecilia——"
"Oh! yes—you may try what coaxing will do; but I can assure you that I am proof against both honied and bitter words. Neither will serve your turn now."
"And yet, somehow or another, you have the command of money, Cecilia," resumed the baronet, after a pause. "You paid all the tradesmen's bills and servants' wages about two months ago: you found out—though God only knows how—that Greenwood had the duplicate of your diamonds;—you redeemed the ticket from him, and the jewels themselves from V——'s; and from that moment you have never seemed embarrassed for a five-pound note."
"All that is perfectly true, Sir Rupert," said Lady Cecilia, blushing slightly, and yet smiling archly—and never did she seem more beautiful than when the glow of shame thus mantled her cheek and poured flood of light into those eyes that were so expressive of a voluptuous and sensual nature.
"Well, then," continued the baronet, "if you can thus obtain supplies for yourself, surely you can do something in the same way for me."
"I have no ready money at present," said Lady Cecilia; "and I have determined not to part with my jewels. There!"
"Perhaps you think that I am fool enough to be the dupe of your miserable and flimsy artifices, Cecilia?" cried the baronet impatiently: "but I can tell you that I have seen through them all along."
"You!" ejaculated the lady, starting uneasily, while her heart palpitated violently, and she felt that her cheeks were crimson.
"Yes—I, Lady Cecilia," answered the baronet. "I am not quite such a fool as you take me for."
"My God, Sir Rupert! what—how—who——" stammered the guilty wife, a cold tremor pervading every limb, although her cheeks appeared to be on fire.
"There! you see that all my suspicions are confirmed," cried the baronet; "your confusion proves it."
"You cannot say that—that—I have ever given you any cause, Sir Rupert——"
"What? to doubt your word? Oh! no—I can't say that you are in the habit of telling falsehoods generally; but——"
"Sir Rupert!"
"Nay—I will speak out! The fact is, you pretend to have quarrelled with Lady Tremordyn; and it is all nonsense. Your mother supplies you with as much money as you require—and that is the secret!"
"Oh! Sir Rupert—Sir Rupert!" exclaimed Lady Cecilia, suddenly relieved from a most painful state of apprehension, and now comprehending the error under which he was labouring.
"You cannot deny what I affirm, Cecilia. And now that I bethink me, it is most probable that Greenwood himself told Lord Tremordyn (with whom he was intimate at that time, although they have since quarrelled, God only knows what about) of my having placed the duplicate of the diamonds in his hands, and so your father arranged that matter with Greenwood. It is a gross system of duplicity, Cecilia—a gross system; a pretended quarrel merely to prevent me from visiting at the house of my father-in-law. But, by God! I will stand it no longer!"
"What will you do, then?" demanded Lady Cecilia, ironically.
"What will I do? I will go straight off to Lord and Lady Tremordyn, and tell them my mind."
"And Lord and Lady Tremordyn will tell you theirs in return."
"And what can they say, madam, against me?"
"Nay—Sir Rupert, rather ask what they can say for you."
"Oh! you wish to irritate me, madam—you are anxious to quarrel with me," cried the baronet.—"Well—be