The plain-looking man rose, and as he did so he seemed just to glance through the door into the street as it was opened by Ben. Immediately his face was full of smiles, as he cried—
"Ah, Jenkins, is that you? Ha, ha! I missed you this morning.—Excuse me, Mr. Barber, I'll look in again. My old friend Jenkins has just gone by."
With this, out he flew from Todd's shop like a shot, and was gone towards Temple Bar, before the barber could move or lay down the shaving cloth which he had in his hands all ready to tuck under his chin. Todd stood for a few moments in an attitude of irresolution. Then he spoke—
"What does all this mean?" he said. "Is there danger? Curses on them both, I would have—; but no matter, I must be wrong—very wrong. That string of pearls may yet destroy me.—Destroy! no—no—no. They must have yet more wit before they get the better of me, and yet how I calculated upon the destruction of that man. I must think—I must think."
Todd sat down in his own strong chair, and gave himself up to what is popularly denominated a brown study.
CHAPTER XLIX.
THE VAULTS OF ST. DUNSTAN'S.
A ponderous stone was raised in the flooring of St. Dunstan's church. The beadle, the churchwarden, and the workmen shrunk back—back—back, until they could get no further.
"Ain't it a norrid smell," said the beadle.
Then the plain-looking man who had been at Sweeney Todd's advanced. He was no other than Sir Richard Blunt, and whispering to the churchwarden, he said—
"If what I expect be found here, we cannot have too few witnesses to it. Let the workmen be dismissed."