“It’s all right,” said the man who had heard Johnson in conversation with another man a short time before. “Thomas’ll be fast asleep afore long. The window’s all right, too; I just slipped round to the back and looked at it.”
“Well,” said Jones, “now we must all on us go home. We mustn’t be seen together. We’re all to meet in the field when the church clock strikes two. Who’s got the powder and the lamp-black?”
“I have,” replied a voice.
“And who’s got the ropes?”
“I have,” whispered another.
“Well, that’s all right,” said Will, with a low, chuckling laugh. “I’ve got the lantern and furze. I’ve picked out some with a rare lot of pricks on’t. I reckon he’ll not look so handsome in the morning.”
Quietly and stealthily they separated, and shrunk off to their own houses.
A few hours later, and several dusky figures were slipping along with as little noise as possible towards the dwelling of the poor victim. It was still very boisterous, but the rain had almost ceased. Thick, heavy clouds, black as ink, were being hurried across the sky, while the wind was whistling keenly round the ends of the houses. There were gaslights which flickered in the gale along the main road; but everything was in the densest gloom at the rear of the buildings and down the side streets. As the church clock struck two, the first stroke loud and distinct, the next like its mournful echo—as the sound was borne away by the fitful breeze, the conspirators crept with the utmost caution to the back of Johnson’s house. Not a sound but their own muffled footsteps could be heard. Not a light was visible through any window. No voice except that of the wailing wind broke the deep stillness. The black walls of the different dwellings rose up dreary and solemn, with spectral-looking pipes dimly projecting from them. The drip, drip of the rain, as it fell off the smoky slates, or streamed down the walls, giving them here and there a dusky glaze, intensified the mournful loneliness of the whole scene.
“Crouch you down under the water-butt,” whispered Ben Stone, the man who had proposed the scheme, and who now acted as leader.
“Will, give me your shoulder—where’s the lantern?”