The Gift of the Sailor: The String of Pearls & Sweeney Todd, the Demon Barber of Fleet Street — page 385: what you’re looking at

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

“Madam, you are my prisoner!” For a moment, and only for a moment, the great—the cunning, and the redoubtable Mrs. Lovett, lost her self-possession, and, staggering back, she lurched heavily against the glass-case next to the wall, immediately behind the counter. It was only for a moment, though, that such an effect was produced upon Mrs. Lovett; and then, with a spring like an enraged tigress, she caught up a knife that was used for slipping under the pies and getting them cleanly out of the little tins, and rushed upon the tall stranger. Yes, she rushed upon him; but for once in a way, even Mrs. Lovett had met with her match. With a dexterity, that only long practice in dealings with the more desperate portion of human nature could have taught him, the tall man closed with her, and had the knife out of her hand in a moment. He at once threw it right through the window into Bell Yard, and then, holding Mrs. Lovett in his arms, he said— “My dear madam, you only distress yourself for nothing; all resistance is perfectly useless. Either I must take you prisoner, or you me, and I decidedly incline to the former alternative.” The knife that had been thrown through the window was not without its object, for in a moment afterwards Mr. Crotchet made his appearance in the shop. “All right, Crotchet,” said he who had captured Mrs. Lovett; “first clap the bracelets on this lady.” “Here yer is,” said Crotchet. “Lor’, mum! I had a eye on you months and months a-gone. How is you, mum, in yer feelin’s this here nice evening?—Eh, mum?” “A knife—a knife! Oh, for a knife!” cried Mrs. Lovett. “FEx-actly, mum,” added Crotchet, as he with professional dexterity slipped the handcuffs on her wrists. “Would you like one with a hivory handle, mum? or would anything more common do, mum?” Mrs. Lovett fell to the floor, or rather she cast herself to it, and began voluntarily beating her head against the boards. They quickly lifted her up; and then the tall stranger turned to the cook, who, after leaping over the counter, had sat down upon a chair in a state of complete exhaustion, and he said— “Do you know the way to Sir Richard’s office, in Craven Street? He expects you there, I believe?” “Yes, yes. But now that all is over, I feel very ill.” “In that case, I will go with you, then. Crotchet, who have you got outside?” “Only two of our pals, Muster Green; but it’s all right, if so be as you leaves the lady to us.” “Very well. The warrant is at Newgate, and the governor is expecting her instant arrival. You will get a coach at the corner of the yard, and be off with her at once.” “All’s right,” said Crotchet. “I knowed as she’d be nabbed, and I had one all ready, you sees.” “That was right, Crotchet. How amazingly quick everybody has left the shop. Why—why, what is all this?” As the officer spoke, about half a dozen squares of glass in the shop window of the house were broken in, and a ringing shout from a dense mob that was rapidly collecting in the yard, came upon the ears of the officer. The two men whom Crotchet had mentioned, with difficulty pressed their way into the shop, and one of them cried— “The people that were in the shop have spread the news all over the neighbourhood, and the place is getting jammed up with a mob, every one of which is mad, I think, for they talk of nothing but of the tearing of Mrs. Lovett to pieces. They are pouring in from Fleet Street and Carey Street by hundreds at a time.” Q9O9O0GOOO CORniclooo S CO)