Merrylegs retained his hold on his victim’s throat. Like a vice.
“Murder!” cried Bounderby! “release me from this dog, or demon, and I will confess all.”
“Mewwylegth, come here, thir!”
Merrylegs released his victim.
“Well, then,” said the detected miscreant, desperately—“sixteen years ago I murdered the man, Jupe, to obtain possession of eighteen-pence, with which I entered Coketown, and set up in business. And now, do your worst.”
The crowd recoiled in horror. The sobered man picked up Mr. Bounderby’s hat, that had dropped off in the scuffle, and immediately pawned it.
“Off with him!” cried Sleary, in a tone of theatrical authority,—“to jail!”
To jail! to jail! to jail!
* * * * *
——:o:——