The Gift of the Sailor: The String of Pearls & Sweeney Todd, the Demon Barber of Fleet Street — page 290: what you’re looking at

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

CHAPTER LXXXV. TODD VISITS THE COLONEL. How she sped with Todd we are already aware. Let us take a peep at the arch-demon in that parlour, which he considered his sanctuary, his city of refuge as it were. At least Todd considered it to be such, whether it was or not. He sits at a table, the table beneath which there was no floor, and covering up his face with his huge hands, he sets about thinking. Yes, that man now abandons himself to thought, as to how he is, with a blaze of wickedness, to disappear from the scene of his iniquities. It was not remorse that now filled his brain. It was not any feeling of bitter heart-felt regret for what he had done that oppressed him now. No such feeling might possibly find a home in his heart at the hour of success, but now when he saw and felt that he was surrounded by many difficulties, it had no home in his brain. But yet he thought that they were only difficulties that now surrounded; he did not as yet dream of positive danger. He still reasoned, as you have heard him reason before, namely, that if anything beyond mere suspicion were entertained regarding his mode of life, he would be at once apprehended. He thought that somebody— most likely Colonel Jeffery—was trying to find out something, and the fact that he, Todd, was there in his own parlour, a free man, appeared to him proof-sufficient that nothing was found out. “How fallacious!” If he had but known that he was virtually in custody even then, as he, indeed, really was, for Fleet Street was alive with officers and the emissaries of the police. If he had but guessed so much for a moment, what a wild tumult would have been raised in his brain. But he knew nothing and suspected little. After a time from generalizing upon his condition, Todd began to be particular, and then he laid down, as it were, one proposition or fact which he intended should be the groundwork of all in other proceedings. That proposition was contained in the words— “Before the dawn of to-morrow I must be off!” “That’s settled,” said Todd, and he gave the table a blow with his hand. “Yes, that’s settled.” The table creaked ominously, and Todd rose to peep into the shop to see what his boy was doing. Charley Green, alias, Johanna Oakley, was sitting upon a low stool reading a bill that some one had thrown into the shop, and which detailed the merits of some merchandise. How far away from the contents of that bill which she held before her face, were her thoughts? “Good,” said Todd. “That boy, at all events, suspects nothing, and yet his death is one of the things which had better not be left to chance. He shall fall in the general way of this place. What proper-feeling errand-boy would wish to survive his master’s absence. Ha!” Of late Todd had not been very profuse in his laughs, but now he came out with one quite of the old sort. The sound startled himself, and he retired to the table again. By the dim light, he opened a desk and supplied himself with writing materials. The twilight was creeping on, and he could only just see. Spreading a piece of paper before him, he proceeded to make a memoranda of what he had to do. It was no bad plan, this of Todd’s, and the paper, when it was finished was quite a curiosity in its way. It ran thus— Mem.—To go to Colonel Jeffery’s, and by some means get into the house and murder Tobias. Mem.—To pack off goods to the wharf where the Hamburgh vessel, called the Dianna, sails from. Mem.—To arrange combustibles for setting fire to the house. Mem.—To cut Charley Green’s throat, if any suspicion arise—if not, to let him be smothered in the fire. Mem.—To have a letter ready to post to Sir Richard Blunt, the magistrate, accusing Mrs. Lovett of her own crimes, and mine likewise. “T think that is all,” said Todd. He folded the paper and placed it in his bosom, after which he came out of the parlour into the shop, and called to Johanna. “Charles?” “Yes, sir.” “Go to the market, and get me a couple of stout porters—I want something carried a short distance.” “Yes, sir.” Away went Johanna, but before she got half way down to Fleet Market, she met Sir Richard, who said— “What is it?” “He wants a couple of porters to carry something.” “Very well, get them. Depend upon me.” “T do, sir. I feel now in good heart to go through with anything, for you are near to me, and I know that I am safe.” “You are safe. It will need to be some very extraordinary circumstances, indeed, that could compromise you. But go at once for these porters; I, and my men will take good care to find where they go to.” There was no difficulty in finding parties in abundance at the end of Fleet Market, and Johanna speedily returned, followed by two CORniclooo S CO)