Jean stood as it were riveted to the spot, his lips apart, eyes distended, and chest heaving: while clutching his shoulder was Mr Sterne, expecting every moment to see the bodies of the struggling men part the air, and fall with a sickening crash into the court beneath.

But no. Jarker freed one arm, and twined it round one of the platform supports, giving himself a savage wrench, and stopping the slow, gliding motion which had taken him nearer and nearer to the little parapet.

Another wrench, and a savage kick, and Jarker was almost at liberty, when down came the frail platform, to fall bodily into the court.

Shouting at the ruffian, Mr Sterne now called the attention of the gathering people below to what was going on, for it was time; but before it was possible for aid to be rendered, Jarker had forced the policeman's head back, and dragged his other hand at liberty; then came the sound of a heavy blow as the ruffian raised and dashed his adversary's head against the tiles. Then followed another fierce struggle, the officer fighting for his life, and he held on tenaciously to his opponent; but Jarker was uppermost, and using his great brute strength, he raised and dashed the man's head down again and again, till his hold relaxed, and he rolled over into the gutter, where he lay to all appearance dead; while, with savage cruelty, Jarker loosened a tile so as to have a firm hold, and then with his free hand he seized his enemy and tried to force him over into the court.

But he was arrested by shouts from _ma mere's_ room and the open trap, at which now appeared in the dim light the eager countenance of the artisan-like man who had been hanging about the court; and now, active as a cat, with the man in full pursuit, Jarker went along upon hands and knees, over slate and tile ridge, along gutter, and past stack after stack of chimneys, to where there was a similar platform to his own; but he was disappointed--the trap-door was fast. On he went again, with Nemesis upon his track, over roof after roof again, towards a house with a dormer-window in the sloping slates; but the slates were covered with a redundant moisture, and to his horror he found that he was slowly gliding down to certain death--faster and faster--as he sat as it were upon his iron-nailed boots. A few seconds would have ended his career; but with a frightful oath, such as none but a drink-maddened ruffian would have uttered, he threw himself at full length, and rolled rapidly over and over to a chimney-stack, to which he clung, as he lay upon his face, with his feet so near the awaiting destruction, that his toes rested in the slight iron gutter.

He lay there for a few moments, trembling and unnerved by the danger he had escaped, and than painfully climbing up in the angle formed by the wall of the next house, which stood a little higher, he reached the ridge, and sat astride, panting and showing his teeth at the coming officer, who was making his way more cautiously; while dragging off first one and then the other of his heavy boots, Jarker hurled them at his pursuer before continuing his flight.

The dangerous slope Jarker had crossed gave him an advantage over the officer; for now unable to escape by the trap or window for which he had aimed, the ruffian had doubled, and was working his way rapidly back to his own garret, which now seemed his last resource.

For an instant he stood by the ruins of his pigeon-traps, gazing at the man lying in the gutter--now showing signs of animation--and listening at the opening; but though there were voices enough in the court, all seemed silent in his room, and with one glance at his fast-nearing foe upon the roof, Jarker lowered himself through his trap; while as Mr Sterne hurried out of the room, with Jean following him slowly, the ruffian stood once more opposite to the bed of his dead wife, to be confronted by another watching policeman.

Not of the same stuff this man; for a moment's struggle, and Jarker was free, leaping down the stairs, which seemed ready to fall with his weight--nearly to the bottom, with the man in full pursuit; when in the buzz of voices be heard a cry for a light below, which flashed upon the hat of yet another officer.

Panting, mad, hemmed-in on all sides, foes above and foes below, knowing that there was blood upon his hands, and--for aught he knew to the contrary--that the gallows waited for him, the ruffian, as a last resource, dashed open the window upon the first landing, while, as hands actually touched him, he dropped into the backyard.

One man leaned out directly, while another hand was at the window; but they saw Jarker in the dim light below recover himself. Then there was the hanging of a door, and one of the men bounded down the stairs just in time to strike the ruffian back as he made a dash along the pa.s.sage to force his way through the crowd. But he was not taken yet; though it was with a smile that the policeman wiped his dripping face as he posted himself at the top of the cellar-steps, and sent a companion out to watch the grating in the court.

And now it seemed that they had run their game to earth; for after one or two ineffectual attempts to escape during the past forty-eight hours--attempts frustrated by the careful watch kept upon the premises he occupied--Jarker had that evening made his way up through the cellar in a half-maddened state, produced by fear and the wine he had drunk to drive it away, for it was many hours since food had pa.s.sed his lips.

But Mr Jarker's course was run, and, though ignorant of the offence for which he was sought, there were heinous matters enough upon his conscience to make him fight for liberty to the last gasp; while, upon this last attempt being made, he had been sighted by the man on watch, who saw him in the pa.s.sage and drove him back, when, horrified at the idea of going back to the cellar, Jarker had bounded upstairs, to be chased as has been described.

There was no lack of policemen now upon the spot, and while the crowd was kept back, place was given to Mr Sterne, who, with Jean hanging upon his arm, slowly descended the cellar-steps, preceded by the policemen, with staves in hand and open lanterns.

"Keep a good look-out on the stairs," said the artisan-looking man--the quiet man of a day or two before, and one in authority. And now, inch by inch, the cellar was searched; then bin after bin of the inner vault; when the men turned and looked at their leader.

"O, he's here, somewhere," said the sergeant, and taking a lantern in hand, he peered long and carefully into every bin, while, trembling with eagerness, Jean pressed forward to see if the discovery would be made.

He was not kept long in suspense; for, after directing his light carefully along the sawdust, the keen-eyed man suddenly exclaimed, "There's someone been through here. Here's fresh candle-grease and matches; and what's this?"

Jean pressed forward with the others, and "this" proved to be a fragment of a stuff dress caught in an old nail between the bricks, a sc.r.a.p which Jean recognised as a piece of his mother's dress.

Jarker's hiding-place, or rather this entrance to his hiding-place, owed much of its strength to its very openness; for, with the house and cellar-doors as it were free to the neighbourhood, many of the other tenants of the court even coming at times for water, no one would suspect the existence of a secret lair, though a careful examination of the long deep bin, now that attention was so fully directed to it, soon robbed the spot of its mystery.

"Crowbar," said the sergeant abruptly, and a man departed in search of the implement; while one whispered to another his opinion that, if there was another way out, they were done, after all.

But now a new-comer forced her way upon the scene, after quite a battle with the constable on duty at the head of the stairs; and but for the request of Mr Sterne, she would not have obtained her desire. And now bitterly in French _ma mere_ reproached her son for betraying her secret, though he as eagerly denied it, appealing to the curate, who freely exonerated the young man from having made any communications to the police.

"But what is the secret, _ma mere_?" he said to her in her own tongue.

"Come away, come away," she whispered, wringing her hands; but Jean would not move, and the old woman was compelled to be a spectator of what followed.

A few blows from the crowbar, when it was brought, shivered the thin end stone to pieces, and Jean shuddered as he felt the cold damp air rush through the black opening, as the sergeant exclaimed:

"That's sewers, my lads: there's another way out. Now, who'll go first?"

No one moved; but _ma mere_ groaned.

"Who wants promotion?" said the sergeant again.

The muttering that followed seemed to intimate that all three of the men present wanted it, but not at the cost of thrusting his body into the black hole before him.

"Then I hope you'll make matters straight if I'm hurt, my lads," said the sergeant grimly.

"That we will, sir," chorussed the men, and then there was quite a compet.i.tion for the second post of honour; as, without another moment's hesitation the sergeant crept into the bin, thrust his lantern forward as far as he could, looked eagerly round, and then, staff in hand, he regularly shot himself forward, and called to his men to follow. But there was no enemy to encounter: nothing to be seen but bins round the cellar, a box or two, the open hole, and the furnace.

"Who'd have thought of there being this place here?" said the sergeant to Mr Sterne, when _ma mere_ and her son both stood shuddering in the cellar with them; the Frenchwoman creeping towards the boxes, her fingers working the while. "Old houses, you see, sir; gentlemen's houses once; and this was an old cellar; wine in it, too, seemingly, and forgotten. Melting-pot, of course," he continued, pointing to the crucible. "Nice handy spot for it; and of course he has made himself all right before now. Gone down to one of the sewers, I suppose," he said. "And while we were hunting him t'other day, he had crawled up here, and was taking his port. Boxes, eh? what's in the boxes?" One of the men was already examining the treasure-chests, and the agony in the old Frenchwoman's face was pitiful, as she saw the lids opened of first one and then the other, to find in place of the riches she had pictured, broken gla.s.s, worn out crucibles, and brickbats that had formed part of the furnace.

"Rubbish!" said one of the men, when the old woman reeled, and would have fallen if the curate had not caught her in his arms and seated her upon one of the boxes.

"Nice place to go down, sir; take that old lady out in the fresh air,"

said the sergeant, peering at the black opening, and listening to the quick rush of water. "There," he said to one of his men, "you needn't stew. I ain't going to send you where I wouldn't go myself."

The man spoken to held up his hand to command silence, for at that moment there came a strange rustling noise, mingled with the fierce rush of the water, while before they could recover from their surprise, drenched with the foul stream, his distorted face looking absolutely fiendish and inhuman, the head of Jarker appeared for a moment at the hole.

"Help!" he gasped, with a cry that rung through the place, but before hand could touch him he had fallen back with a heavy splash: there was the sound of water rushing furiously along with a hollow, echoing, gurgling noise; and the men stood looking at one another.

"Here, for G.o.d's sake, men," cried Mr Sterne, "do something!" and, weak, and trembling with horror, he stepped towards the hole; but the sergeant had his arms round him in a moment.

"Keep still, sir," he said sternly; "we've done our part, I think. It's certain death to go down there; they're flushing the sewers, I should say, or else there's a heavy fall of rain somewhere. He's half-way to the Thames by now."

The next moment Mr Sterne was telling himself that he had left his room too soon, for a strange sick feeling came over him, and the place around looked misty and indistinct; but his was not the only sleepless couch that night, for the old Frenchwoman moaned bitterly at the destruction of the _Chateau en Espagne_ which she had raised.

Volume Three, Chapter XVI.

WORN OUT.

A heavy step upon the stairs, a heavy knock upon the door, and a heavy-eyed, heavy-countenanced man asking for Septimus Hardon.

"And he wants you, too, Miss," said the man. "O dear, O dear! he was the only friend I ever had, and he came back the night afore last, after you'd been to ask for him. Not seen him, we hadn't, for long enough; and then to come back like this!" and the great fellow sat down unasked upon a chair, and sobbed like a child.

"He wants to see you, sir," he said again, "and we've done all we could," he cried pitifully; "but you see he's old, sir, and there ain't nothing of him as'll hold together, and he knows it, sir; and he only laughed and said, he says, `Ikey, old man,' he says, `it must be all new stuff,' he says, `for the st.i.tches won't hold no longer;' and he was the only friend I ever had. `Go and tell them,' he says, `as old Matt's taken his last copy, and would like to see 'em afore he takes the wages he's earned.' You'll come and see him, won't you, sir? though it's no sort of a place to come to; and the missus is breaking her heart about him."

Half-an-hour after, Septimus Hardon and Lucy were in Lower Series-place, where, in the dingy back-room, close to the waste-paper, lay poor old Matt, with Mrs Gross upon her knees beside his bed, crying bitterly, as the poor old man lay calm and apparently sleeping; but he started when Lucy knelt down and took his hand, to let a tear-fall upon it.

"G.o.d bless you!" he whispered earnestly, as his dim eyes recognised the face bending over him. "Come like an angel to a dying man. G.o.d bless you, sir, I'm glad you've come; I was in mortal fear that you would be too late. Tell her--but no, I will.--Mother Slagg, you and Ikey go for a bit, please."

The weeping woman put her ap.r.o.n to her eyes, and went out with her husband. It was a heavy afternoon, and the fog was settling down fast over the City. The light struggled feebly through the window, half-covered as it was with boots; but the great landlord returned directly with a thick, strong-smelling candle, stuck upon a block of wood between three nails.

As soon as the door was once more closed--a rare position for it, and one which it resented for some time, until Ikey had poked the corners clean with an awl, and oiled the lock--old Matt said huskily:

"Put your hand, sir, under my pillow. That's it, that there little Bible. Know it, sir?" he said, for Septimus Hardon had changed colour, and his hands were trembling. "That took me a long time to get, sir,"

and then he slowly and painfully told what he said he would have spared Miss Lucy if he could, but it was not to be; how he had seen Agnes Hardon lying dead, she whom he knew now to have been Agnes Hardon; how he had attended the inquest, and then tried to get a Bible that had been there mentioned, seeking for it day after day, night after night, ready to drop always, but feeling that he should succeed in spite of all. He searched the streets, he said, but all in vain; and at last he began to fear that the poor girl to whom Agnes gave the Bible had emulated her fate, when he recalled the address of the juryman, found to his delight she had been there, and through the stranger's influence obtained the prize he sought.

"And now," said Matt, "I'm happy. I can feel, sir, that I've done one little bit of good in my life, and I can go easy. Now, sir that book."

Septimus, wondering and surprised, turned from Matt to Lucy, sobbing and horror-stricken at the old man's recital, for much of what he heard now had yet to be explained to him; but the old man was intent upon the little Bible, one that Septimus remembered to have seen at home in his father's desk.