The house was perfectly dark from top to bottom. The shutters of the shop, of course, were all up, and the shutters of the first-floor windows were likewise closed. The other windows had their old dingy blinds all down; and, to all outward appearance, that den of murder was deserted.
But Todd could not believe such to be the case. In his own mind, he felt fully sure, that Sir Richard Blunt was not the man to leave the house without some sort of custody; and he quite settled with himself, that there was some one or more persons minding it, and, no doubt, by order, sitting there in one of the back rooms, so that no light should show in front.
"Curses on them all!" he muttered.
"Ah! you are looking at old Todd's house, sir?" said a voice.
Todd started; and close to him was a person smoking a pipe, and looking as jolly as possible.
"Yes—yes," stammered Todd, for he was taken by surprise rather. "Oh, yes, sir. I am amazed at the great wickedness of human nature."
"You may well, sir—you may well! Lord bless me! I never thought him a good looking man, but I never thought any ill of him neither, and I have seen him lots of times."
"Indeed, sir? Pray, what sort of man was he? I never saw him, as I live in Soho; and I am so much in years now, that in the bustling day-time I don't care to come into streets like this; for you see, sir, I can't move about as I could sixty years ago; and the people—God help them—are all in such a hurry now, and they push me here and there in such a way, that my failing breath and limbs won't stand it; and—and—eugh!—eugh! Oh, dear."
"Poor old gentleman! I don't wonder at your not liking the crowds. How old may you be, sir?'"
"A matter of eighty-nine, sir. It's an old age to get to, but I—I am younger than my brother, yet—Ha! ha! Oh dear, if it wasn't now for the rheumatism and the lumbago and a pain in my shoulder, and a few other little things, I should get on very well."