The Gift of the Sailor: The String of Pearls & Sweeney Todd, the Demon Barber of Fleet Street — page 378: what you’re looking at

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

upon me with those dead eyes.” “Murderer!” shouted Sir Richard, is a voice that rung like the blast of a trumpet through the house. In an instant he sprang upon Sweeney Todd, and grappled him by the throat. There was a short struggle, and they were down upon the floor together, but Todd’s wrists were suddenly laid hold of, and a pair of handcuffs most scientifically put upon him by the officers who, at the word “murderer,” that being a preconcerted signal, came from the cupboard where they had been concealed. “Secure him well, my men,” said the magistrate, “and don’t let him lay violent hands upon himself.” Johanna rushed into the shop, and clung to the arm of Sir Richard, crying— “Ts it all over! Is it indeed all done now?” “Tt is, Miss Oakley.” The moment Todd heard these few words addressed to Charley Green, as he thought him, he turned his glassy blood-shot eyes upon Johanna, and glared at her for the space of about half a minute in silence. He then, although handcuffed, made a sudden and violent effort to reach her, but he was in too experienced hands, and he was held back most effectually. He struck his forehead with his fettered hands, making a gash in it from which the blood flowed freely, as in infuriated accents, he said— “Oh fool—fool, to be cheated by a girl! I had my suspicions that the boy was a spy, but I never thought for one moment there was a disguise of sex. Oh, idiot! idiot! And who are you, sir?” “T am Sir Richard Blunt.” Todd groaned and staggered. The officers would have let him sit down in the shaving chair for a moment or two to recover from the shock his mind had sustained by his capture, but when he found that it was the shaving chair he was led to, he shuddered, and in a wailing voice, said— “No—no! not there—not there! Anywhere but there. I dare not sit there!” “Tt isn’t worth while sitting at all,” said Crotchet. “I’m blowed if I ain’t all crumpled up in a blessed mummy by being in that cupboard so jolly long. All my joints is a-going crinkley-crankley.” Todd looked in the face of Sir Richard Blunt, and in a faint voice spoke— “T—I don’t feel very well. There’s a little drop of cordial medicine that I often take in my coat pocket. You see I can’t get at it, my hands being manacled. I only want to take a drop to comfort me.” “Get it out, Crotchet,” said Sir Richard. “Here ye is,” said Crotchet, as he produced a little bottle, with a pale straw-coloured liquid in, from Todd’s pocket. “Give it to me. Oh, give it to me,” said Todd. “I will thank you much. It will recover me. Give it to me!” “No, Todd,” said Sir Richard, as he took the little bottle and put it in his own pocket. “I do not intend, if I can help it, to permit you to evade the law by poisoning yourself.” Finding himself thus defeated in his insidious attempt upon his own life, Todd got quite frantic with rage, and had a grand struggle with the officers, in his endeavours to get at some of the razors that were near at hand in the shop; but they effectually prevented him from doing so, and finally he became too much exhausted to make any further efforts. “My curses be upon you all!” he said. “May you, and all who belong to you—” But we cannot transcribe the horrible denunciations of Todd. They were too horrible even for the officers to listen to with patience, and Sir Richard Blunt, turning to Johanna, said— “Run over the way to your friends at the fruiterer’s. All is over now, and your disguise is no longer needed.” Johanna did not pause another moment, but ran over the way, and in the course of a few moments she was in the arms of the fruiterer’s daughter, where she relieved her overcharged heart by weeping bitterly. “Shut up the shop, Crotchet,” said Sir Richard Blunt, “and then get a coach. I will lodge this man at once in Newgate, and then we will see to Mrs. Lovett.” At this name Todd looked up. “She has escaped you,” he said. “T don’t think so,” responded Sir Richard. “But I say she has—she is dead: she fell into the Thames this morning and was drowned.” “Oh, you allude to your pushing her into the river this morning near London Bridge?” said Sir Richard. “I saw that affair myself.” Todd glared at him. “But it was not of much consequence. We got her out, and she is all right again now at her shop in Bell Yard.” Todd held his hands over his eyes for some moments, and then he said in a low voice— “Tt is all a dream, or I am mad.” Crotchet, in obedience to the orders he had received, put up the shutters of Todd’s shop, and then fetched a coach; during the whole of which time, Sir Richard Blunt himself kept his hand upon Todd’s collar, so that he could control him if he should again become so violent as he had been. The spirit to struggle was, however, gone from Todd for the time being. Indeed, he seemed to be completely stunned by his capture, and to be able only to see things darkly. He was yet to awaken to a full consciousness of his situation, and let that awakening be when CORniclooo S CO)