“Show me a good reason,and I shall not object,” remarked Mrs. Mortimer, knowing that the man, in spite of his conciliatory observations, had the power to enforce, if he chose, what he seemed to ask as a favour.
“I will explain myself,” resumed Jack Rily: then glancing towards Vitriol Bob, he said, “Our friend here must remain in that condition until I can send Pig-faced Poll to release him from his bonds. It would not be worth while to risk another conflict by taking on ourselves the part of liberators. His young woman shall therefore be entrusted with that agreeable duty: but as she is drunk in bed——”
Vitriol Bob uttered a sound resembling the savage but subdued growl of a wild beast.
“As she is drunk in bed,” repeated Jack Rily, with a chuckle, “she won’t be fit to undertake the task until it’s pretty near daylight; and it would not be safe to leave the poor devil alone here for so many hours. I don’t seek his death; but he might fall off his chair, tumble flat on his face, and not be able to right himself—for it’s by no means an easy thing to shift one’s position when bound neck and heels like that. So remain with him I must and will. His company will not, however, prove the most agreeable after all that has occurred betwixt us; and now you can guess why I ask you as a favour to stay with me—say till two o’clock, when we will take our departure and send Poll Calvert, who will be sufficiently sober by that time, to cut his cords.”
“I consent to remain here until two o’clock,” said Mrs. Mortimer: “only——”
And she glanced, with shuddering aversion, towards the door.
“Ah! I understand you, my dear tiger-cat,” exclaimed Jack Rily: “you don’t admire the presence of the stiff ’un there. Lord bless you! if you’d only been my wife when I was a doctor, you would have become familiar enough with articles of that kind—aye, and have thought nothing of shaking hands with a resurrection man. But it’s all habit; and so, since you would feel more comfortable if that bundle over there was moved, I’ll just drag it into the back kitchen—and our friend here will doubtless amuse himself by burying it to-morrow night.”
Having thus delivered himself with characteristic levity, the Doctor rose from the barrel whereon he had been seated, and taking up the candle, proceeded to transfer the dead body of Torrens from the threshold of the door into the back kitchen.
Mrs. Mortimer was now left in the company of the murderer, and in total darkness; and though she knew that he was bound beyond a chance of self-release, yet a cold shudder passed over her frame, as she thought of what would be the consequences were it possible for him to cast off the strong cords that restrained him.