The moment the Resurrection Man was thus relieved from the observation of his companions, he seized the candle and hastened into the back room, where he expected to find the corpse of Richard Markham stripped and washed.
To his surprise the room was empty.
"What the devil has the old fool been up to?" he exclaimed: then, hastening to the foot of the stairs, he cried, "Mummy, are you awake?"
In a few moments a door on the first floor opened, and the old woman appeared in her night gear at the head of the stairs.
"Is that you, Tony?" she exclaimed.
"Yes! who the hell do you think it could be? But what have you done with the fresh 'un?"
"The fresh 'un came alive again——"
"Gammon! Where is the money? how much was there? and is his skull fractured?" demanded the Resurrection Man.
"I tell you that he came to his senses," returned the old hag: "and that he sprung upon me like a tiger when I went into the back room after you was gone."
"Damnation! what a fool I was not to stick three inches of cold steel into him!" ejaculated the Resurrection Man, stamping his foot. "So I suppose he got clear away—money and all?—gone, may be, to fetch the traps!"
"Don't alarm yourself, Tony," said the old hag, with a horrible cackling laugh; "he's safe enough, I'll warrant it!"
"Safe! where—where?"
"Where his betters have been 'afore him," answered the Mummy.
"What!—in the well in the yard?" exclaimed the Resurrection Man, in a state of horrible suspense.
"No—in the hole under the stairs."
"Wretch!—drivelling fool!—idiot that you are!" cried the Resurrection Man in a voice of thunder: "you decoyed him into the very place from which he was sure to escape!"
"Escape!" exclaimed the Mummy, in a tone of profound alarm.
"Yes—escape!" repeated the Resurrection Man. "Did I not tell you a month or more ago that the wall between the hole and the saw-pit in the empty house next door had given way!"
"No—you never told me! I'll swear you never told me!" cried the old hag, now furious in her turn. "You only say so to throw all the blame on me: it's just like you."
"Don't provoke me, mother!" said the Resurrection Man, grinding his teeth. "You know that I told you about the wall falling down; and you know that I spoke to you about not using the place any more!"
"It's false!" exclaimed the Mummy.
"It's true; for I said to you at the time that I must brick up the wall myself some night, before any new people take the carpenter's yard, or they might wonder what the devil we could want with a place under ground like that; and it would be the means of blowing us!"
"It's a lie! you never told me a word about it," persisted the old harridan doggedly.
"Perdition take you!" cried the man. "The affair of this cursed Markham will be the ruin of us both!"
The Resurrection Man still had a hope left: the subterranean pit beneath the stairs was deep, and Markham might have been stunned by the fall.
He hastened to the trap-door, and raised it. The vivid light of his candle was thrown to the very bottom of the pit by means of the bright reflector of tin.
The hole was empty.
Maddened by disappointment—a prey to the most terrible apprehensions—and uncertain whether to flee or remain in his den, the Resurrection Man paced the passage in a state of mind which would not have been envied by even a criminal on his way to execution.
CHAPTER XLV.
THE FRUITLESS SEARCH.
WHEN Richard Markham was precipitated into the hole beneath the stairs, by the perfidy of the Mummy, he fell with his head against a stone, and became insensible.
He lay in this manner for upwards of half an hour, when a current of air which blew steadily upon his face, revived him; and he awoke to all the horrors of his situation.
He had seen and passed through enough that night to unhinge the strongest mind. The secrets of the accursed den in a subterranean dungeon of which he now lay—the atrocious mysteries revealed by the conversation of the body-snatchers ere they set out on their expedition to Shoreditch Church—the cold corpse of some unfortunate being most inhumanly murdered, and all the paraphernalia of a hideous death, in the front-room of that outpost of hell—haunted his imagination, and worked him up to a pitch of excitement bordering upon frenzy.
He felt that if he did not escape from that hole, he should dash his head against the wall, or go raving mad.
He clenched his fists and struck them against his forehead in an access of despair.
And then he endeavoured to reason with himself, and to look the perils that beset him, in the face.
But he could not remain cool—he could not control his agonising emotions.
"O God!" he exclaimed aloud; "what have I done to be thus afflicted? What sin have I committed to be thus tortured? Have I not served thee in word and deed to the best of my ability? Do I not worship—venerate—adore thee? O God! why wilt thou that I should die thus early—and die, too, so cruel a death? Is there not room on earth enough for a worm like me? Have I not been sufficiently tried, O my God? and in the hour of my deepest—bitterest anguish, did I ever deny thee? Did I repine against thy supreme will when false men encompassed me to destroy me in the opinion of the world? Hear me, O God—hear me! and let me not die this time;—let me not perish, O Lord, thus miserably!"
Such was the fervent, heart-felt prayer which Markham breathed to heaven, in the agony and despair of his soul.
He extended his arms, with his hands clasped together, in the ardour of his appeal; and they encountered an opening in the wall.
A ray of hope penetrated to his heart; and when upon further search, he discovered an aperture sufficiently wide for him to creep through, he exclaimed, "O Lord! I thank thee, thou hast heard my prayer! Pardon—oh! pardon my repinings;—forgive me that I dared to question thy sovereign will!"
At all risks he determined to pass through the opening—lead whithersoever it might; for he knew that he could scarcely be worse off; and he felt a secret influence which prompted him thus to act, and for which he could not wholly account.
He crept through the hole in the partition-wall, and found himself upon a soft damp ground.
Every thing was veiled in the blackest obscurity.
He groped about with his hands, and stepped cautiously forward, pausing at every pace.
Presently his foot encountered what appeared to be a step: to his infinite joy he ascertained, in another moment, that he was at the bottom of a flight of stone stairs.
He ascended them, and came to a door, which yielded to his touch. He proceeded slowly and cautiously along a passage, groping his way with his hands; and, in a few moments he reached another door, which opened with a latch.
He was now in the open street!
Carefully closing the door behind him, he hurried away from that accursed vicinity as if he were pursued by blood-hounds.
He ran—he ran, reckless of the deep pools of stagnant water, careless of the heaps of thick mud through