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on below, and all other sounds were lost
in the noise of its plashing and eddying
against the green and slimy piles. ‘There
had once been a water-mill beneath, and
the tide foaming and chafing round the
few rotten stakes, and fragments of ma¬
chinery, that yet remained, seemed to
dart onward with a new impulse when
freed from the obstacles which had una¬
vailingly attempted to stem its headlong
course.
“Tf you flung a man’s body down there,
where would it be to-morrow morning ?”
said Monks, swinging the lantern to and
fro in the dark well.
c Twelve miles down the river, and cut
to pieces besides,” replied Bumble, recoil¬
ing at the very notion.
Monks drew the little packet from his
it, and tying it firmly to a leaden weight
which had formed a part of some pulley,
and was lying on the floor, dropped it into
the stream. It fell straight, and true as
a die, clove the water with a scarcely au¬
dible splash, and was gone.
The three looked into each other’s faces,
and seemed to breathe more freely.
c There!" said Monks, closing the trap¬
door, which fell heavily back into its for¬
mer position. “If the sea ever gives up
its dead—as books say it will—it will
trash among it. We have nothing more
to say, and may break up our pleasant
party.”
c By all means,” observed Mr. Bumble
with great alacrity.
“You'll keep a quiet tongue in your
head, will you?” said Monks, with a
threatening look. “Iam not afraid of
your wife.”
“ You may depend on me, young man,”
answered Mr. Bumble, bowing himself
gradually towards the ladder with exces¬
sive politeness. “On everybody’s ac¬
count, young man; on my own, you
know, Mr. Monks.”
“Tam glad for your sake to hear it,”
remarked Monks. “ Light your lantern,
and get away from here as fast as you can.”
It was fortunate that the conversation
terminated at this point, or Mr. Bumble,
who had bowed himself to within six
inches of the ladder, would infallibly have
eg preys into the room below.
e lighted his lantern from that which
Monks had detached from the rope, and
now carried in his hand, and, making no
effort to prolong the discourse, descended
in silence, fullowed by his wife. Monks
steps to satisfy himself that there were
no other sounds to be heard than the beat¬
ing of the rain without, and the rushing
of the water.
They traversed the lower room slowly,
and with caution, for Monks started at
every shadow, and Mr. Bumble, holding
his lantern a foot above the ground, walked
not only with remarkable care, but with .
a marvellously light step for a gentleman
of his figure: looking nervously about
him for hidden trap-doors. ‘The gate at ¬
which they had entered was softly unfast¬
ened and opened by Monks, and merely
exchanging a nod with their mysterious
acquaintance, the married couple emerged
into the wet and darkness outside.
They were no sooner gone, than Monks,
who appeared to entertain an invincible
repugnance to being left alone, called to
a boy who had been hidden somewhere
below, and bidding him go first, and bear
the light, returned to the chamber he had
just quitted.
CHAPTER THE SECOND,
Introduces some respectable characters with whom
the reader is already acquainted, and shows how
Monks and the Jew laid their worthy heads to¬
gether.
Ir was about two hours earlier on the
evening following that upon which the
three worthies mentioned in the last chap¬
ter disposed of their little matter of busi¬
ness as therein narrated, when Mr. Wil¬
liam Sikes, awakening from a nap, drow¬
sily growled forth an inquiry what time
of night it was.
The room in which Mr. Sikes propound¬
ed this question was not one of those he
had tenanted previous to the Chertsey ex¬
pedition, although it was in the same quar¬
ter of the town, and was situated at no
reat distance from his former lodgings.
t was not in appearance so desirable a
habitation as his old quarters, being a
mean and badly-furnished apartment of
very limited size, lighted only by one
small window in the shelving roof, and
abutting upon a close and dirty lane. Nor
were there wanting other indications of
the good gentleman’s having gone down
in the world of late; for a great scarcity
of furniture, and total absence of comfort,
together with the disappearance of all
such moveables as spare clothes and linen,
bespoke a state of extreme poverty, while
the meagre and attenuated condition of