He entered the shop, made the purchase which he needed, and then repaired to the bottom of Tottenham Court Road, where it joins Oxford Street, in order to obtain a conveyance to take him home.
But as he turned the corner of Great Russell Street, an individual coming in the opposite direction knocked somewhat violently against him.
"Why the devil don't you use your eyes?" exclaimed the fellow brutally.
Richard started back and uttered a cry of mingled astonishment and horror; for the tone of the voice which had just addressed him was familiar—oh! too familiar—to his ears.
"Wretch!" he ejaculated, almost instantly recovering his presence of mind, and precipitating himself upon the other; "we have met at last where you shall not escape me!"
"Damnation! Richard Markham!" growled the Resurrection Man—for it was he; then, with a sudden jerk, rather characterised by a particular knack than by any extraordinary degree of strength, he disengaged himself from the grasp of our hero, and, turning on his heels, darted off at full speed towards Saint Giles's.
All this was only the work of a single instant; but as soon as the Resurrection Man thus escaped, Richard gave the alarm, and in a moment a policeman and several persons who had witnessed the encounter (for it was but a little past nine o'clock in the evening) joined in the pursuit.
The Resurrection Man rushed along with desperate speed,—took the first turning to the left, and plunged into the dark and narrow streets lying between Great Russell Street and High Street.
London was as well known to the miscreant as if it were a mere village, whose topography may be learnt in an hour. This knowledge stood him in good stead on the present occasion: he dived down one street—merged into another—dodged down courts, and up alleys—and at length rushed into a sort of lobby, the front door of which stood open, but the inner door of which was shut.
At that inner door he knocked violently.