And again he gasped in so frightful a manner that his eyes seemed to be starting from his head, and his attenuated frame literally writhed in convulsive spasms.
“Ah!” he exclaimed, after a long pause, during which his shocking appearance had produced a dead silence of horror and amazement: “I have thought of something”—and he grinned malignantly. “Did you not say that men had been spirited away—in that Torrens’ affair——”
“To be sure I did,” answered Bingham, to whom the question was addressed: “and Tom Rain did it. Well, what about that, Mr. Dykes?”
“Why—that seems to be knocked on the head also,” was the reply: “though I have no doubt we shall get the reward, because we did our dooty in arresting him; and if so be that the Home Secretary chooses to grant him a pardon in that respect also——”
“He won’t—he won’t!” ejaculated Old Death, with feverish—nay, with hysterical excitement. “He does not dare do it! No—no—Tom Rain must swing for that, at all events! ’Tis as good as being accessory to the murder—’tis shielding the murderers! Ha! ah! he will swing for that—he will swing for that!”
“I’m blessed if he will, though,” said Dykes, bluntly; “for it seems that he’s got a paper signed by the King which will put him all to rights—and though I don’t exactly understand that part of the business, I’m pretty sure Tom Rain is in no danger. Lord Ellingham has got the matter in hand; and he has gone up to the Home Office. That’s why I left Mr. Rainford at liberty—just taking his word of honour that he wouldn’t bolt.”
“He’ll deceive you—he’ll run away—he’ll escape!” cried Old Death. “You are mad to trust him! Go—seize on him again—put hand-cuffs——”
“Yes—on you, in no time—if you don’t hold your tongue,” interrupted Mr. Dykes. “But ain’t all this a rummy business, though?” he demanded, turning towards Bingham and the subordinate officials. “The old Jew seems a most respectable gentleman—I’d take his bail for any amount, if I was a magistrate. And really his daughter is a sweet young o’oman: the Earl’s going to marry her, I’ll swear to it.”
“Mr. Dykes—Mr. Dykes,” whispered Old Death in his ear; and the officer, turning suddenly round again, perceived that the tall, gaunt form of the fence was close behind him.
“Well—what do you want?” demanded the functionary.