The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 105: what you’re looking at

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rw rr ee re ee eee —_—— 93 THE MYSTERIES OF THE COURT. made no reply, for fear of aggravating him; and he was somewhat softened by this apparent submissive- ness on their part. “‘ Well, I can’t say that [ve ach to complain of against yor? he observed: “ only I can’t bear sharp answers. What are you looking at, Jack?” “ This picture of Dick Turpin hanging,” was the response. “I think Turpin was a very fine fellow— and I’m never tired of looking at the picture. What a shame it was to send such a chap to the gibbet. But did he really wear a laced coat like that?” “To be sure he did,” answered the Hangman. “He was a very spicy cove in his togs, and always looked as if he belonged to swell street. It’s more than seventy years ago since he was scragged. My father saw him turned off: it was at Tyburn. Ashe went up the ladder his right leg seemed to tremble fora moment: but he stamped it down hard—like that,” said Coffin, suiting the action to the word and making the whole crazy building shake from bottom to top with the force of his foot. ‘ When he'd stamped in that manner, Turpin looked round with a dauntless air upon the multitude, and received three cheers. Ah! that must have been a proud moment for him,’”’ added Jack Ketch, shaking his head slowly and with a look of envy. But at this moment two or three customers entered the shop; and the Hangman’s anecdotes, which by the bye he delighted to tell, were cut suddenly short, at least for the time being. He and his assistants began to lather and shave away ; anda miscellaneous conversation was kept up the whole time. A suc- cession of customers continued to arrive in sufficient numbers to keep Coffin, Dick, and the Foundling fully employed for the next hour; and during that period all kinds of things were discussed. The Jatest broils in the neighbourhood—the approaching sessions at the Old Bailey—the conduct of the last men who had been hung—the exploits of skilful and well known thieves—the quality of the liquor at the various public-houses in the neighbourhood—the recent prize-fights—the severity of the tax- gatherers —the latest rows in the Fleet prison—some attempted escapes from Newgate—the comparative merits of notorious highwaymen, dead or living—and anec- dotes of clever Old Bailey pleaders,—these topics formed the staple of the discourse, By half-past eight the business began to slacken; and towards nine the habitual frequenters of the shop were all disposed of. Dick Melmoth and the Foundling then went into the adjoining room to get their breakfast ; and tue Hangman posted himself on the threshold of the door to “catch a whiff of air,’ as he said, after the bustle and heat of his morning’s avocations. Having remained there for a few minutes, thinking over the adventures at the dark crib in Jacob’s Island, he was about to follow his assistants into the parlour, when he suddenly observed no less a person than Mr. Lawrence Sampson, the chief officer of Bow Street, coming down the lane from the direction of Newgate. A pang of uneasiness shot through the heart of Jack Ketch at the sight of this for- midable functionary—especially as the recent crime of the Folly Bridges was at the instant uppermost in his memory: but he as promptly composed him- self with the reflection that if Larry, as he was fa- miliarly called, meant mischief, he would not be coming alone nor in such an indifferent leisurely manner as that at which he was now advancing. Besides, the Hangman felt well assured that the crime could not possibly be known as yet, even if it were ever destined to transpire at all; and as for any information that the young lady might have given relative to her adventures at the dark crib, it could not be otherwise than exceedingly vague, and must necessarily stop short of the chapter that contained the crowning tragedy of the night. Having thus rapidly reasoned to himself, Daniel Coffin recovered all his wonted equanimity and dogged indifference by the time Mr. Lawrence Sampson came near his door. : This individual, who has already been more than once alluded to in our pages, was the most celebrated thief-taker of the time. Not that he had ever per- formed any remarkable acts of desperate valour: but his skill in the process of detecting a criminal or unravelling the most intricate skein of myste- rious crime, was extraordinary. Nothing could equal his shrewdness in catching up the faintest circumstance that might afford a clueto the object of his search or the aim of his investigation. Incidents, so trivial that even the astutest of his colleagues would have passed them over unnoticed, were by him seized upon as straws showing which way the jrind blew;—and his keenness in getting upon the trail of a criminal was only equalled by his un- wearylng perseverance and consummate art in follow- ing up the scent. Marvellous tales are told of the searching penetration and wondrous ingenuity of the Red Indians in thus detecting an enemy’s track and pursuing the chase, even though rivers shonld have been crossed and the trail thus broken suddenly: but nothing of the kind that is related concerning the savage aboriginals of North America could possibly exceed in vivid interest and astonishing skill the exploits of Lawrence Sampson wien unravelling the mysteries of London crime or employed in the detection of its hidden perpetrators. In physical construction he seemed but litle adapted for so perilous, fatiguing, and harassing a life. Slightly formed, he was what 1s called’ a dapper-looking man; and though he was remark- ably active, his muscular strength was by no means great. He dressed with great plainness, and had not the least air of pretension about him: nor was there any expression of vulgar cunning in his countenance. His looks had a certain keenness and his lips denoted the utmost decision of cha- racter: but as he walked along the street, he did not appear to take any inordinate notice of. either men or things. He had sleek red hair, a very freckled face, and large greenish eyes; and his age might be about eight-and-thirty. Such was the famous Larry Sampson, the head officer of Bow Street, That he should now be coming from the direc- tion of Newgate, was nothing extraordinary, inas- much as his avocations necessarily rendered him a frequent visitor to that gaol; and that he should be passing down Fleet Lane was. also. natural enough, seeing that it afforded the shortest cut into Farringdon Street, supposing that he was, on his way straight back ,te Bow Street, Indeed, there was scarcely a week in which Sampson did not visit Newgate a dozen times, and take Fleet Lane in his way, either coming or going, on at least six or eight. of those occasions. Ajl these reflections did the Hangman make in the course of a few moments; and the result was a perfect men~ (COIN 0)(0)(0) ‘Ss (C (C(O)