There was nothing in these observations to excite either the curiosity or the suspicions of the other persons in the public-house-parlour: nevertheless, those words had a terrible significancy for the two men who had exchanged them.
The Doctor walked leisurely out of the room first; and Vitriol Bob followed him. But the instant they were outside the premises, the former turned abruptly round upon his enemy, saying, “Come, let us proceed abreast: I don’t mean to give you a chance of stabbing me from behind.”
“Just as you like,” observed Vitriol Bob; and he placed himself at the Doctor’s right hand, leaving an interval of about a couple of feet between them.
In this manner they walked on in silence,—each occupied with his own peculiar reflections.
Vitriol Bob was intent only on vengeance,—dread, full, complete, and diabolical vengeance; and, though he seemed to be looking straight forward, he was nevertheless watching his companion with the sidelong glances of his reptile-like eyes.
Jack Rily was calculating in his mind what course he should adopt. He was naturally as brave as a lion: but he did not perceive any advantage in risking his life in a struggle that, even were he victorious, would produce neither profit nor glory. The only possible good that could result to him from a triumphant issue of the quarrel, would be the removal of a bitter, inveterate, and determined enemy. Nevertheless, the Doctor had most potent reasons to induce him to avoid this deadly encounter. He had just obtained a vast sum of money, and had the means of realising five times as much: the world, therefore, had suddenly assumed a smiling aspect in his eyes. He had already resolved to abandon his nefarious pursuits, which indeed were no longer necessary—and settle down quietly in the cottage for the purchase of which he had that day concluded a bargain;—and all these prospects were to be staked on the hazard of a die—risked fearfully at the bidding of the miscreant who was walking by his side!
At one moment the Doctor seriously thought of giving his companion into charge to the first corps of policemen whom they might encounter; for this was the hour when the little detachments of constables went about relieving their comrades on duty. But that idea was abandoned almost as soon as formed: inasmuch as Jack Rily had all his money about him, and he knew that if he handed Vitriol Bob over to the police as the murderer of Torrens or of Mrs. Mortimer, the miscreant would unhesitatingly turn round with some charge that would at least place him (the Doctor) in temporary restraint, and lead to an examination of his person.
Jack Rily therefore came to the determination of pushing on into the heart of London, well knowing that Vitriol Bob’s object was not to assail him in any neighbourhood where the contest was likely to be observed and prevented, but to drive him by dint of persecution, dogging, and a hateful companionship, into the open country, where through very desperation the Doctor should make up his mind to settle the matter decisively by a struggle on equal terms. Feeling convinced that this was his enemy’s purpose, Jack Rily resolved either to weary him out or give him the slip if possible—or else to seize an opportunity of stabbing him suddenly in some place where an immediate escape was practicable.
We must again observe it was through no cowardice that the Doctor was desirous of avoiding a conflict from which only one could possibly depart alive: but he had so many inducements to cling to existence, that he saw no advantage in risking them all in a quarrel where the personal animosity was entirely on the other side.
In the course of half an hour they arrived in the vicinity of the Angel at Islington; and Jack Rily, now breaking the silence which had lasted since they quitted the public-house at Pentonville, said, “This walking makes one thirsty: let’s have some beer.”