wearing apparel dangle at the salesman’s door, and stream fromthe house-parapet and windows. Jostling with unemployedlabourers of the lowest class, ballast-heavers, coal-whippers,brazen woman, ragged children, and the raff and refuse of theriver, he makes his way with difficulty along, assailed by offensivesights and smells from the narrow alleys which branch off on theright and left, and deafened by the clash of ponderous wagons thatbear great piles of merchandise from the stacks of warehouses thatrise from every corner. Arriving, at length, in streets remoter andless frequented than those through which he has passed, he walksbeneath tottering house-fronts projecting over the pavement,dismantled walls that seem to totter as he passes, chimneys half-Charles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twist 536crushed, half-hesitating to fall, windows guarded by rusty ironbars that time and dirt have almost eaten away, and everyimaginable sign of. desolation and neglect.In such a neighbourhood, beyond Dockhead in the borough ofSouthwark, stands Jacob’s Island, surrounded by a muddy ditch,six or eight feet deep and fifteen or twenty wide when the tide isin, once called Mill Pond, but known in the days of this story asFolly Ditch. It is a creek or inlet from the Thames, and can alwaysbe filled at high water by opening the sluices at the lead mills fromwhich it took its old name.At such times, a stranger, looking from one of the woodenbridges thrown across it at Mill Lane, will see the inhabitants ofthe houses on either side lowering from their back doors andwindows, buckets, pails, and domestic utensils of all kinds, inwhich to haul the water up; and when his eye is turned from theseoperations to the houses themselves, his utmost astonishment willbe excited by the scene before him. Crazy wooden galleriescommon to the backs of half a dozen houses, with holes fromwhich to look upon the slime beneath; windows, broken andpatched, with poles thrust out, on which to dry the linen that isnever there; rooms so small, so filthy, so confined, that the airwould seem too tainted even for the dirt and squalor which theyshelter; wooden chambers thrusting themselves out above themud, and threatening to fall into it—as some have done; dirt-besmeared walls and decaying foundations; every repulsivelineament of poverty, every loathsome indication of filth, rot, andgarbage; all these ornament the banks of Folly Ditch.In Jacob’s Island, the warehouses are roofless and empty; thewalls are crumbling down; the windows are windows no more; theCharles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twist 537doors are falling into the streets; the chimneys are blackened, butthey yield no smoke. Thirty or forty years ago, before losses andchancery suits came upon it, it was a thriving place; but now it is adesolate island indeed. The houses have no owners; they arebroken open, and entered upon by those who have the courage;and there they live, and there they die. They must have powerfulmotives for a secret residence, or be reduced to a destitutecondition indeed, who seeks a refuge in Jacob’s Island.In an upper room of one of these houses—a detached house offair size, ruinous in other respects, but strongly defended at doorand window, of which house the back commanded the ditch inmanner already described—there were assembled three men, whoregarding each other every now and then with looks expressive ofperplexity and expectation, sat for some time in profound andgloomy silence. One of these was Toby Crackit, another Mr.Chitling, and the third a robber of fifty years, whose nose had beenalmost beaten in, in some old scuffle, and whose face bore afrightful scar which might probably be traced to the sameoccasion. This man was a returned transport and his name wasKags.“I wish,” said Toby, turning to Mr. Chitling, “that you hadpicked out some other crib when the two old ones got too warm,and had not come here, my fine feller.”“Why didn’t you, blunder-head?” said Kags.“Well, I thought you’d have been a little more glad to see methan this,” replied Mr. Chitling, with a melancholy air.“Why, look’ee, young gentleman,” said Toby, “when a mankeeps himself so very exclusive as I have done, and by that meanshas a snug house over his head with nobody a-prying and smellingCharles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twist 538about it, it’s rather a startling thing to have the honour of a visitfrom a young gentleman (however respectable and pleasant aperson he may be to play cards with at conweniency)circumstanced as you are.”“Especially, when the exclusive young man has got a friendstopping with him, that’s arrived sooner than was expected fromforeign parts, and is too modest to want to be presented to thejudges on his return,” added Mr. Kags.There was a short silence, after which Toby Crackit, seeming toabandon as hopeless any further effort to maintain his usual devil-may-care swagger, turned to Chitling, and said:“When was Fagin took, then?”“Just at dinner-time—two o’clock this afternoon. Charley and Imade our lucky up the wash’us chimney, and Bolter got into theempty water-butt, head downwards; but his legs were so preciouslong that they stuck out at the top, and so they took him too.”“And Bet!”“Poor Bet! She went to see the body, to speak to who it was,”replied Chitling, his countenance falling more and more, “andwent off mad, screaming and raving, and beating her head againstthe boards; so they put a strait-weskut on her and took her to thehospital—and there she is.”“Wot’s come of young Bates?” demanded Kags.“He hung about, not to come over here afore dark, but he’ll behere soon,” replied Chitling. “There’s nowhere else to go to now,for the people at the Cripples are all in custody, and the bar of theken—I went up there and see it with my own eyes—is filled withtraps.”“This is a smash,” observed Toby, biting his lips. “There’s moreCharles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twist 539than one will go with this.”“The sessions are on,” said Kags, “if they get the inquest over,and Bolter turns king’s evidence—as of course he will, from whathe’s said already—they can prove Fagin an accessory before thefact, and get the trial on on Friday, and he’ll swing in six days fromthis, by G—!”“You should have heard the people groan,” said Chitling; “theofficers fought like devils, or they’d have torn him away. He wasdown once, but—they made a ring round him, and fought theirway along. You should have seen how he looked about him, allmuddy and bleeding, and clung to them as if they were his dearestfriends. I can see ’em now, not able to stand upright with thepressing of the mob, and dragging him along amongst ’em; I cansee the people jumping up, one behind another, and snarling withtheir teeth and making at him; I can see the blood upon his hairand beard, and hear the cries with which the women workedthemselves into the centre of the crowd at the street corner, andswore they’d tear his heart out!”The horror-stricken witness of this scene pressed his handsupon his ears, and with his eyes closed got up and paced violentlyto and fro, like one distracted.While he was thus engaged, and the two men sat by in silencewith their eyes fixed upon the floor, a pattering noise was heardupon the stairs, and Sikes’s dog bounded into the room. They ranto the window, downstairs, and into the street. The dog hadjumped in at an open window; he made no attempt to follow them,nor was his master to be seen.“What’s the meaning of this?” said Toby, when they hadreturned. “He can’t be coming here. I—I—hope not.”Charles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twist 540“If he was coming here, he’d have come with the dog,” saidKags stooping down to examine the animal, who lay panting onthe floor. “Here! give us some water for him; he has run himselffaint.”“He’s drunk it all up, every drop,” said Chitling, after watchingthe dog some time in silence. “Covered with mud—lame—halfblind—he must have come a long way.”“Where can he have come from!” exclaimed Toby. “He’s beento the other kens, of course, and finding them filled with strangers,come on here, where he’s been many a time and often. But wherecan he have come from first, and how comes he here alone withoutthe other!”“He—”(none of them called the murderer by his old name)—“he can’t have made away with himself. What do you think?” saidChitling.Toby shook his head.“If he had,” said Kags, “the dog ’ud want to lead us away towhere he did it. No. I think he’s got out of the country, and left thedog behind. He must have given him the slip somehow, or hewouldn’t be so easy.”This solution, appearing the most probable one, was adopted asthe right; the dog, creeping under a chair, coiled himself up tosleep, without more notice from anybody.It being now dark, the shutter was closed, and a candle lightedand placed upon the table. The terrible events of the last two days,had made a deep impression on all three, increased by the dangerand uncertainty of their own position. They drew their chairs closetogether, starting at every sound. They spoke little, and that inwhispers, and were as silent and awe-stricken as if the remains ofCharles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twist 541the murdered woman lay in the next room.They had sat thus, some time, when suddenly was heard ahurried knocking at the door below.“Young Bates,” said Kags, looking angrily round, to check thefear he felt himself.The knocking came again. No, it wasn’t he. He never knockedlike that.Crackit went to the window, and, shaking all over, drew in hishead. There was no need to tell them who it was; his pale face wasenough. The dog too was on the alert in an instant, and ranwhining to the door.“We must let him in,” he said, taking up the candle.“Isn’t there any help for it?” asked the other man, in a hoarsevoice.“None. He must come in.”“Don’t leave us in the dark,” said Kags, taking down a candlefrom the chimney-piece, and lighting it, with such a tremblinghand that the knocking was twice repeated before he had finished.Crackit went down to the door, and returned followed by a manwith the lower part of his face buried in a handkerchief, andanother tied over his head under his hat. He drew them softly off.Blanched face, sunken eyes, hollow cheeks, beard of three days’growth, wasted flesh, short, thick breath; it was the very ghost ofSikes.He laid his hand upon a chair which stood in the middle of theroom, but shuddering as he was about to drop into it, and seemingto glance over his shoulder, dragged it back close to the wall—asclose as it would go— ground it against it—and sat down.Not a word had been exchanged. He looked from one to anotherCharles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twist 542in silence. If an eye were furtively raised and met his, it wasinstantly averted. Then his hollow voice broke silence, they allthree started. They seemed never to have heard its tones before.“How came that dog here?”“Alone. Three hours ago.”“Tonight’s paper says that Fagin’s took. Is it true, or a lie?“True.”They were silent again.“Damn you all!” said Sikes, passing his hand across hisforehead. “Have you nothing to say to me?”There was an uneasy movement among them, but nobodyspoke.“You that keep this house,” said Sikes, turning his face toCrackit, “do you mean to sell me, or to let me lie here till the huntis over?”“You may stop here, if you think it safe,” returned the personaddressed, after some hesitation.Sikes carried his eyes slowly up the wall behind him, rathertrying to turn his head than actually doing it, and said, “Is—it—thebody—is it buried?”They shook their heads.“Why isn’t it?” he retorted, with the same glance behind him.“Wot do they keep such ugly things above the ground for?—Who’sthat knocking?”Crackit intimated, by a motion of his hand as he left the room,that there was nothing to fear; and directly came back withCharley Bates behind him. Sikes sat opposite the door, so that themoment the’ boy entered the room he encountered his figure.“Toby,” said the boy, falling back, as Sikes turned his eyesCharles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twist 543towards him, “why didn’t you tell me this downstairs?”There had been something so tremendous in the shrinking offof the three, that the wretched man was willing to propitiate eventhis lad. Accordingly he nodded, and made as though he wouldshake hands with him.“Let me go into some other room,” said the boy, retreating stillfarther.“Charley!” said Sikes, stepping forward, “don’t you—don’t youknow me?”“Don’t come near me,” answered the boy, still retreating, andlooking, with horror in his eyes, upon the murderer’s face. “Youmonster!”The man stopped half-way, and they looked at each other; butSikes’s eyes sank gradually to the ground.“Witness you three,” cried the boy, shaking his clenched fist,and becoming more and more excited as he spoke. “Witness youthree—I’m not afraid of him—if they come here after him I’ll givehim up; I will. I tell you at once. He may kill me for it if he likes, orif he dares, but if I am here I’ll give him up. I’d give him up if hewas to be boiled alive. Murder! Help! If there’s the pluck of a manamong you three, you’ll help me. Murder! Help! Down with him!”Pouring out these cries, and accompanying them with violentgesticulation, the boy actually threw himself, single-handed, uponthe strong man, and in the intensity of his energy and thesuddenness of his surprise, brought him heavily to the ground.The three spectators seemed quite stupefied. They offered nointerference, and the boy and man rolled on the ground together;the former, heedless of the blows that showered upon him,wrenching his hands tighter and tighter in the garments about theCharles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twist 544murderer’s breast, and never ceasing to call for help with all hismight.The contest, however, was too unequal to last long. Sikes hadhim down, and his knee was on his throat, when Crackit pulledhim back with a look of alarm, and pointed to the window. Therewere lights gleaming below, voices in loud and earnestconversation, the tramp of hurried footsteps—endless they seemedin number—crossing the nearest wooden bridge. One man onhorseback seemed to be among the crowd; for there was the noiseof hoofs rattling on the uneven pavement. The gleam of lightsincreased; the footsteps came more thickly and noisily on. Thencame a loud knocking at the door, and then a hoarse murmur fromsuch a multitude of angry voices as would have made the boldestquail.“Help!” shrieked the boy, in a voice that rent the air. “He’shere! Break down the door!”“In the king’s name,” cried the voices without; and the hoarsecry arose again, but louder.“Break down the door!” screamed the boy. “I tell you they’llnever open it. Run straight to the room where the light is. Breakdown the door!”Strokes, thick and heavy, rattled upon the door and lowerwindow-shutters as he ceased to speak, and a loud huzzah burstfrom the crowd, giving the listener, for the first time, someadequate idea of its immense extent.“Open the door of some place where I can lock this screechinghell-babe,” cried Sikes fiercely, running to and fro, and draggingthe boy, now, as easily as if he were an empty sack. “That door.Quick!” He flung him in, bolted it, and turned the key. “Is theCharles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twist 545