"Take me!" ejaculated the wretched man: and his eyes were fixed in horrified amazement on the officer.
"I'm sorry to say I must do so," answered Dykes.
"Martha—Martha!" ejaculated Torrens, starting from the seat in which the officer had just now deposited him, and speaking in such wild, unearthly tones that those who heard him thought he had suddenly gone raving mad: "why do you lie moaning there? Get up—and face the danger bravely—bravely! Ah! ah! here is a fine ending to all our glorious schemes!"—and he laughed frantically. "Howard has run away—absconded—gone, I tell you! Yes—gone, with the two thousand pounds! But I did not murder Sir Henry Courtenay!" he continued, abruptly reverting to the most horrible of all the frightful subjects which racked his brain. "No—it was not I who murdered him—you know it was not, Martha!"
And he sank back, exhausted and fainting, in the seat from which he had risen.
"Sir Henry Courtenay!" cried Dykes. "Well—this is strange; for it's on account of forging his name that the lady is arrested—and notice of his disappearance was given at our office this morning."
Late that evening the entire metropolis was thrown into amazement by the report "that a gentleman, named Torrens, who had hitherto borne an excellent character, and was much respected by all his friends and acquaintances, had been committed to Newgate on a charge of murder, the victim being Sir Henry Courtenay, Baronet." And this rumour was coupled with the intelligence "that the prisoner's wife, to whom he had only been married on the previous day, and who was so well known in the religions and philanthropic circles by the name of Slingsby, had been consigned to the same gaol on a charge of forgery."
CHAPTER LXXXIV.
OLD DEATH'S PARTY.
While these rumours were circulating throughout the metropolis, Old Death was preparing for the reception of visitors at his abode in Horsemonger Lane.
The aged miscreant, assisted by the old woman who acted as his housekeeper, arranged bottles, glasses, pipes, and tobacco on the table—made up a good fire so that the kettle might boil by the time the guests should arrive—and carefully secured the shutters of the window in order to prevent the sounds of joviality from penetrating beyond that room.