Soon after it was dark, Jeffreys was blindfolded and conducted to a private carriage, which was waiting. Wilton accompanied him in the vehicle, which, after driving about for nearly an hour, stopped at last; and Jeffreys, on removing the bandage from his eyes, and alighting, found himself in an obscure street in the immediate vicinity of Shoreditch Church.
CHAPTER LXXXIX.
THE SURPRISE.—JEFFREYS AND OLD DEATH.
The deep tones of St. Luke's bell, proclaiming the hour of eleven, oscillated though the gusty air, as Tim the Snammer entered the narrow road dividing the two burial-grounds belonging to the church. John Jeffreys was already at the place of appointment; and not many moments had elapsed after those two met, ere Josh Pedler joined them, bringing with him the necessary implements for the work of resurrectionists, and which he instantly threw over the wall.
"What a windy night it is," said Tim the Snammer; "and how precious dark."
"All the better for our business," observed Josh Pedler. "I should have been here a little earlier; but I had such a cursed deal of trouble to get rid of that bothering wench 'Tilda. She wouldn't let me come out at first; and swore that if I did, she'd foller me."
"And did she follow you?" demanded Jeffreys.
"Deuce a bit," answered Josh. "I was obliged to give her a good drubbing because she whimpered, and then another to make her hold her tongue; and afterwards we kissed and made it up—and so she went quietly to bed. What strange things women are, to be sure! If you beat 'em, they're sure to love you all the more."
"Well, are we going to stand here talking all night?" cried Tim the Snammer. "Who knows but what there's a watchman about here?"
"I know there isn't," said Jeffreys: "because I made the enquiry in a careless kind of way at a public-house close by, where I bought some brandy in a pint bottle."
"That's capital!" cried Tim. "Give us a dram, old feller."