The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 205: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

199 By nine o'clock in the evening the outlines of a heavenly face had been sketched on that canvass; for the young artist worked unweariedly until the old female domestic called him to supper. This meal was served in the kitchen; and on the present Occasion it was somewhat more bounteous in quan- tity and inviting in quality than usual—for the pic- ture-dealer was slightly moved to liberality by the good business he had done that day. After supper Mr. Shrubsole despatched the ser- vant to the nearest tavern for two bottles of wine; and the party—consisting of the picture-dealer him- self, the artist, the domestic, and the boy — sate drinking and conversing until the booming bell of St. Sepuichre’s Church proclaimed the hour of eleven. “ Now, then—to-bed !” exclaimed Mr. Shrubsole, rising from his seat with a partial degree of difficulty, and staggering somewhat as he extended his hand to grasp the chamber-candle, At this moment there was a loud and imperious double-knock at the strect door ;—and the domestie hastened to respond to the summons. Those who remained benind in the kitchen heard her ascend the Stalrs—open the door—answer a few questions put to her by several voices, both male and female—and then admit the visitors into the passage, the door im- mediately afterwards closing behind them. All this did Mr. Shrubsole, George Woodfall, and the boy Tom hear as plainly as possible in the kitchen below: but suddenly a dead silence succeeded —and not another sound reached them after the echoes raised by the shutting of the street-door had died away. “This is very ex—tri—traordinary,’ murmured Mr. Shrubsole, glancing with a kind of vacant uneasi- ness at the artist. “I could swear—hic—that—I—I heard people come—hic—into the—hie— hic — house.” “ I will go and see,” said Woodfall ;—and, hasten- Ing out of the kitchen, he ascended the stairs. It struck both the pictare-dealer and Tom that they heard something like a short scuffle in the passage over-head: but if it were so, the conflict ceased almost instantaneously and was unmarked by -asingle cry for assistance. A solemn silence again pre- vailed ;—and uselessly did Shrubsole hold his breath in the hope of catching the sounds of George Wood- fall’s returning footsteps. Jt appeared as if both the Servant and theartist had been spirited away by some ‘Supernatural agency: for not a sound was heard-— no, not even the rustling of a dress ! “ ‘Tom—Tom—the devil’s in the house,” whispered the picture-lealer, pretty well sobered by the terror arising from the mysterious occurrences of the last few minutes, “Lord bless ye, sir?’ returned the boy: “I'll be bound it’s only a bit of fun of some kind or another. I’m not afraid.” And away he rushed up the staircase, purposely making his hob-nailed shoes clatter as heavily as he could upon the steps. The picture-dealer listened with suspended breath: he could tell when the boy reached the passage—and there he suddenly stopped. At the same instant a sharp noise, like that of a man’s hand slapping a facé or striking with the flat of the palm against a wall, fell on Shrubsole’s ear. A short rapid scuffle followed;— and then all was still throughout the house, and silent as the grave. The old man sank down upon a chair, gasping for breat.; while his countenance, as the flickering en LAL LLL ALLL ELLA LA a CINCO THE MYSTERIES. Se eee gleams of awretched candle played upon it, was hideous with the workings of excessive terror. Tis hinbs trembled couvulsively—his dips, white and blood less, quivered like aspens—and his eyes glared wild) in the direction of the door leading to the dark stair. case, as if he every moment expected that some grisl) spectre would come forth from the obscurity. Suddenly he started up: his fears goaded him f desperation ;—and desperation gave him courage Thieves might be plundering his house, while he was sitting helplessly and pusijlanimously in the kitchen. Taking up the light, he ascended the stairs, hold ing the candle high above his head so as to throw its rays forward. But scarcely had he mounted half-a dozen steps, when something whizzed through the air—apparently coming from the passage: and in 4 moment the candle was struck from the old man’s hand. Uttering a loud cry, he fell back senseless ;—ana when consciousness slowly returned, he found him self seated by the kitchen fire, on which more coals had evidently been heaped. At the same instant hy became aware that he was fastened by a strong cord, which bound him hand and foot, to the arm-chaiz wherein he had been so considerately placed. A candle—fthe very one which had been dashed from his grasp by the well-aimed missi!le—was burn- ing on the table;—and around the kitehen did Mr. Shrubsole now glance hastily. His fears—if his selfishness allowed him to entertain aay apart from those which concerned his property and his gold— were immediately relieved in respect to the artist, the old female dependant, and the boy Tom ;—for these three individuals were his compauions—but each bound, like himself, to a chair. “ What—how—when——” stammered the bewil- dered picture-dealer, anxious to ask questions but unable to find words to frame them. “ Sileuce!’’ exclaimed a sharp imperious female voice closé behind Mr. Shrubsole’s chair; and at the same instant he felt something cold touch the back of his neck. Throwing his body forward as far as the cords would permit, he hastily turned his head and beheld a woman, with a black crape mask over her counte- nance and a pair of horse-pistols in her hands, évi- dently mounting guard upon the four prisoners. “ Hold your tongue—and no harm shall happen to you, sir,’ continued the woman. “ No robbery is intended—and it will be your fault if violence or, bloodshed should ensue. aise but your voice oné note higher than you have already spoken, and I will send a bullet through your head without an instant’s hesitation.” And again she placed the cold muzzle of a pistol behind his ear: for this woman appeared to play with the murderous weapons as if they had been familiar toys from her very birth. “Tn fact, the shortest plan and the best,” she con- tinued, “isnot tospeak at all. This I have recom- mended to your three fellow-prisoners; and they are wisely following my counsel.” “Think not, woman,” observed the young artist, irritated by this observation, “ that my silence is occasioned by fear of you or your pistols. But, bound as Iam to the chair, you may well suppose that I have little inclination to open my lips in discourse.” “JT will give you credit, sir, for any motive you ™,. COMA ElOoOOKS. COR