“Come on and see. Follow, I—say—follow.”
“I will,” cried Learmont, his dark eyes flashing with unholy fire, as he thought how gigantic a step towards the accomplishment of Gray’s destruction would be the knowledge, unknown to him, of his secret abode.
Cautiously he followed the devious track of the drunken man, who, with mock gravity, marched onwards to show the way. “Now, Jacob Gray,” he thought, “you are in my grasp; you shall die—die—some death of horror which in its bitter pangs will give you some taste of the heart-sickness you have given me.”
CHAPTER XX.
The Guide.—The Old House.—The Murder.
Sheldon continued singing snatches of rude songs, and staggering onwards, while Learmont followed closely upon his heels, and judiciously kept up a conversation with him that prevented him from giving any further thought on the object of his present undertaking.
It was strictly true what Sheldon had stated. After landing Jacob Gray, he had left his boat in charge of one of the idlers who are always plying on the banks of the river, and cautiously dogged his customer home. This was a circumstance which it had never for one moment entered into even Gray’s over-suspicious imagination to conceive. He had, as he felt well assured, scared Britton from pursuing him for that time at least; and he fancied himself, therefore, quite free. Hence was it that the waterman, who wished to know something more of the man who had made to him a proposal amounting to murder, succeeded in so successfully following Jacob Gray.
At that period the Thames was infested with the worst of characters, and scarcely any proposition, let it involve what measure of guilt it might, could be made in vain to many of the desperadoes who were ostensibly watermen, but really, robbers and cut-throats of the vilest description. That Sheldon was a man not tortured with many virtuous scruples, the reader will readily conceive; but he did shrink from the cold-blooded murder so calmly proposed to him by Gray, and he felt well inclined to sell that gentleman to justice, only he was very anxious to have a good price for his virtue, for Master Sheldon was fond of sack, doted on canary, and idolised all manner of strong drinks; so that a good reward in gold pieces for not doing a decidedly disagreeable job, presented itself to his mind in lovely and agreeable colours. So elated had he been with the bare supposition of such an event, that instead of going back to the stairs at which he had left his wherry, he had repaired to the “Mitre,” and tasted so many different enticing and delicious compounds, that, as the reader is aware, the calculating and considerate landlord was compelled to turn him out at three o’clock in the morning, because, being only one drunkard, he was not worth attending to any longer.
With eager steps Learmont followed his guide till they came to the range of miserable habitations, in one of which Jacob Gray had concealed himself and his precious charge.
“Ah,” said Learmont, “I begin to think you do indeed know the way.”
“Know the way!” cried Sheldon—“I could find it blindfold. Come on, I—I’ll take you to your own door.”
“What astonishing acuteness!” remarked Learmont.
“Yes,“ said Sheldon, wonderfully flattered, “I—I believe you there, Master Gray. You are no fool yourself, because you—you see you’ve found out how ex—ex—extraordinary clever I am—you see.”
“Exactly,” cried Learmont. “This is a lonely district.”
“Here you are—Ah! Ah!” laughed Sheldon. “I—I know it—this is the house. Bless you, I know it by the painted windows.”
Learmont walked to the middle of the roadway, and by the dim morning light, which was just beginning to shed a faint colour across the dusky sky, he gazed earnestly at the ancient building, in which he had no doubt were the objects of his hatred and dread.
“Well,” said Sheldon, “ain’t—ain’t you going to ask a fellow in, just to take a drop o’ something?”
Learmont heard him not, or if he did, he heeded him not, but stood intently gazing at the house, and treasuring up in his memory every little peculiarity he could by the faint light detect, in order that he might again recognise it without doubt or difficulty.
“Hilloa!” cried Sheldon. “What are you staring at—d—d—did you never see your own house before?”
Learmont started, and advancing to Sheldon, he laid his hand upon his shoulder, saying—
“My good friend, in that house I have not one drop of liquor, good or bad, to offer you.”
“The d—d—devil you haven’t,” said the waterman.
“Not a drain; but if you will walk with me till we come to some really good hostel, I will make you the partaker of the value of a couple of gold pieces melted down into humming ale, spiced canary, sack, or choice Rhenish—ay? What you will you shall have, if you will how take my arm, and let me be your guide.”
“You—you are the prince of good fellows,” cried Sheldon, “d—d—damme you are—humming ale, did you say?”
“Certainly, such as will be music in your ears.”
“And—and spiced canary?”
“Even, so; deep draughts that will shut the world from your eyes and your thoughts.”
“Sack—s—sack, and Rhenish too?”
“All—all. You shall steep your senses in delight; drown your soul in a delirium of pleasure. Come on—come on, good Master Sheldon—do you not see the morning is breaking?”
“D—d—d—n it, let it break. I mean to say that you are my best friend. Bless you—I ain’t a-going to cry—no—no.”
“Come—come, say no more—say no more.”
Learmont took the arm of the waterman, who was rapidly becoming sentimental again, and, passing it through his own, he led him away from Gray’s house at a quick pace.
The morning light was now each moment increasing, and Learmont did not fail to note every particular building he passed, in order that, when he came again, he should need no guide.
Suddenly, as they turned the corner of a street, they came in sight of the square tower of the Bishop’s Palace, at Lambeth, and as Learmont knew that well, he felt quite assured that he could from that, as a land-mark, walk with certainty to the house of Jacob Gray.
He now threw his whole thoughts into a consideration of what was to be done with his intoxicated companion. That he had been in some sort of communication with Jacob Gray he could not doubt, and moreover, he shrewdly suspected that the destruction of Britten was the object hinted at by Sheldon—that, however, was a far inferior object in Learmont’s mind to the destruction of Gray himself, and the possession of the boy he held in his power. Therefore was it that Learmont fell into a train of anxious and horrid thoughts as to whether Sheldon after he had left him might not, by his relation of having brought some one to his secret abode, alarm the cautious Jacob Gray into an immediate removal, and so baffle him, Learmont, again.
If there be any crime more awful than another, it is a cool and deliberate murder founded upon calculation; but Learmont was just the man to commit such an act, and while the thoughtless Sheldon was hanging upon his arm and murmuring disjointed snatches of songs in praise of good fellowship and glorious wine, Learmont half resolved upon his death.
“This drunken idiot can be of no use to me,” he reasoned with himself, “because I could never depend upon him; but he may, if I let him escape, warn Gray, and I lose the rare chance that kind Fortune has thrown so strangely in my way. He must die.”
They