"My dear madam, you only distress yourself for nothing; all resistance is perfectly useless. Either I must take you prisoner, or you me, and I decidedly incline to the former alternative."
The knife that had been thrown through the window was not without its object, for in a moment afterwards Mr. Crotchet made his appearance in the shop.
"All right, Crotchet," said he who had captured Mrs. Lovett; "first clap the bracelets on this lady."
"Here yer is," said Crotchet. "Lor, mum! I had a eye on you months and months agone. How is you, mum, in yer feelin's this here nice evening?—Eh mum?"
"A knife—a knife! Oh, for a knife!" cried Mrs. Lovett.
"Ex-actly, mum," added Crotchet, as he with professional dexterity slipped the handcuffs on her wrists. "Would you like one with a hivory handle, mum? or would anything more common do, mum?"
Mrs. Lovett fell to the floor, or rather she cast herself to it, and began voluntarily beating her head against the boards. They quickly lifted her up; and then the tall stranger turned to the cook, who, after leaping over the counter, had sat down upon a chair in a state of complete exhaustion, and he said—
"Do you know the way to Sir Richard's office, in Craven Street? He expects you there, I believe?"
"Yes, yes. But now that all is over, I feel very ill."
"In that case, I will go with you, then. Crotchet, who have you got outside?"