Chapter Fifty-One

Martin Chuzzlewit

by Charles Dickens

SHEDS NEW AND BRIGHTER LIGHT UPON THE VERY DARK PLACE; AND
CONTAINS THE SEQUEL OF THE ENTERPRISE OF MR JONAS AND HIS FRIEND

The night had now come, when the old clerk was to be delivered
over to his keepers. In the midst of his guilty distractions, Jonas
had not forgotten it.

It was a part of his guilty state of mind to remember it; for on
his persistence in the scheme depended one of his precautions for his
own safety. A hint, a word, from the old man, uttered at such a
moment in attentive ears, might fire the train of suspicion, and
destroy him. His watchfulness of every avenue by which the discovery
of his guilt might be approached, sharpened with his sense of the
danger by which he was encompassed. With murder on his soul, and its
innumerable alarms and terrors dragging at him night and day, he
would have repeated the crime, if he had seen a path of safety
stretching out beyond. It was in his punishment; it was in his
guilty condition. The very deed which his fears rendered
insupportable, his fears would have impelled him to commit again.

But keeping the old man close, according to his design, would
serve his turn. His purpose was to escape, when the first alarm and
wonder had subsided; and when he could make the attempt without
awakening instant suspicion. In the meanwhile these women would keep
him quiet; and if the talking humour came upon him, would not be
easily startled. He knew their trade.

Nor had he spoken idly when he said the old man should be
gagged. He had resolved to ensure his silence; and he looked to the
end, not the means. He had been rough and rude and cruel to the old
man all his life; and violence was natural to his mind in connection
with him. 'He shall be gagged if he speaks, and pinioned if he
writes,' said Jonas, looking at him; for they sat alone together.
'He is mad enough for that; I'll go through with it!'

Hush!

Still listening! To every sound. He had listened ever since,
and it had not come yet. The exposure of the Assurance office; the
flight of Crimple and Bullamy with the plunder, and among the rest,
as he feared, with his own bill, which he had not found in the
pocket-book of the murdered man, and which with Mr Pecksniff's money
had probably been remitted to one or other of those trusty friends
for safe deposit at the banker's; his immense losses, and peril of
being still called to account as a partner in the broken firm; all
these things rose in his mind at one time and always, but he could
not contemplate them. He was aware of their presence, and of the
rage, discomfiture, and despair, they brought along with them; but he
thought--of his own controlling power and direction he thought--of
the one dread question only. When they would find the body in the
wood.

He tried--he had never left off trying--not to forget it was
there, for that was impossible, but to forget to weary himself by
drawing vivid pictures of it in his fancy; by going softly about it
and about it among the leaves, approaching it nearer and nearer
through a gap in the boughs, and startling the very flies that were
thickly sprinkled all over it, like heaps of dried currants. His
mind was fixed and fastened on the discovery, for intelligence of
which he listened intently to every cry and shout; listened when any
one came in or went out; watched from the window the people who
passed up and down the street; mistrusted his own looks and words.
And the more his thoughts were set upon the discovery, the stronger
was the fascination which attracted them to the thing itself; lying
alone in the wood. He was for ever showing and presenting it, as it
were, to every creature whom he saw. 'Look here! Do you know of
this? Is it found? Do you suspect me?' If he had been condemned to
bear the body in his arms, and lay it down for recognition at the
feet of every one he met, it could not have been more constantly with
him, or a cause of more monotonous and dismal occupation than it was
in this state of his mind.

Still he was not sorry. It was no contrition or remorse for
what he had done that moved him; it was nothing but alarm for his own
security. The vague consciousness he possessed of having wrecked his
fortune in the murderous venture, intensified his hatred and revenge,
and made him set the greater store by what he had gained The man was
dead; nothing could undo that. He felt a triumph yet, in the
reflection.

He had kept a jealous watch on Chuffey ever since the deed;
seldom leaving him but on compulsion, and then for as short intervals
as possible. They were alone together now. It was twilight, and the
appointed time drew near at hand. Jonas walked up and down the room.
The old man sat in his accustomed corner.

The slightest circumstance was matter of disquiet to the
murderer, and he was made uneasy at this time by the absence of his
wife, who had left home early in the afternoon, and had not returned
yet. No tenderness for her was at the bottom of this; but he had a
misgiving that she might have been waylaid, and tempted into saying
something that would criminate him when the news came. For anything
he knew, she might have knocked at the door of his room, while he was
away, and discovered his plot. Confound her, it was like her pale
face to be wandering up and down the house! Where was she now?

'She went to her good friend, Mrs Todgers,' said the old man,
when he asked the question with an angry oath.

Aye! To be sure! Always stealing away into the company of that
woman. She was no friend of his. Who could tell what devil's
mischief they might hatch together! Let her be fetched home
directly.

The old man, muttering some words softly, rose as if he would
have gone himself, but Jonas thrust him back into his chair with an
impatient imprecation, and sent a servant-girl to fetch her. When he
had charged her with her errand he walked to and fro again, and never
stopped till she came back, which she did pretty soon; the way being
short, and the woman having made good haste.

Well! Where was she? Had she come?

No. She had left there, full three hours.

'Left there! Alone?'

The messenger had not asked; taking that for granted.

'Curse you for a fool. Bring candles!'

She had scarcely left the room when the old clerk, who had been
unusually observant of him ever since he had asked about his wife,
came suddenly upon him.

'Give her up!' cried the old man. 'Come! Give her up to me!
Tell me what you have done with her. Quick! I have made no promises
on that score. Tell me what you have done with her.'

He laid his hands upon his collar as he spoke, and grasped it;
tightly too.

'You shall not leave me!' cried the old man. 'I am strong
enough to cry out to the neighbours, and I will, unless you give her
up. Give her up to me!'

Jonas was so dismayed and conscience-stricken, that he had not
even hardihood enough to unclench the old man's hands with his own;
but stood looking at him as well as he could in the darkness, without
moving a finger. It was as much as he could do to ask him what he
meant.

'I will know what you have done with her!' retorted Chuffey.
'If you hurt a hair of her head, you shall answer it. Poor thing!
Poor thing! Where is she?'

'Why, you old madman!' said Jonas, in a low voice, and with
trembling lips. 'What Bedlam fit has come upon you now?'

'It is enough to make me mad, seeing what I have seen in this
house!' cried Chuffey. 'Where is my dear old master! Where is his
only son that I have nursed upon my knee, a child! Where is she, she
who was the last; she that I've seen pining day by day, and heard
weeping in the dead of night! She was the last, the last of all my
friends! Heaven help me, she was the very last!'

Seeing that the tears were stealing down his face, Jonas
mustered courage to unclench his hands, and push him off before he
answered:

'Did you hear me ask for her? Did you hear me send for her?
How can I give you up what I haven't got, idiot! Ecod, I'd give her
up to you and welcome, if I could; and a precious pair you'd be!'

'If she has come to any harm,' cried Chuffey, 'mind! I'm old
and silly; but I have my memory sometimes; and if she has come to any
harm--'

'Devil take you,' interrupted Jonas, but in a suppressed voice
still; 'what harm do you suppose she has come to? I know no more
where she is than you do; I wish I did. Wait till she comes home,
and see; she can't be long. Will that content you?'

'Mind!' exclaimed the old man. 'Not a hair of her head! not a
hair of her head ill-used! I won't bear it. I--I--have borne it too
long Jonas. I am silent, but I--I--I can speak. I--I--I can
speak--' he stammered, as he crept back to his chair, and turned a
threatening, though a feeble, look upon him.

'You can speak, can you!' thought Jonas. 'So, so, we'll stop
your speaking. It's well I knew of this in good time. Prevention is
better than cure.'

He had made a poor show of playing the bully and evincing a
desire to conciliate at the same time, but was so afraid of the old
man that great drops had started out upon his brow; and they stood
there yet. His unusual tone of voice and agitated manner had
sufficiently expressed his fear; but his face would have done so now,
without that aid, as he again walked to and fro, glancing at him by
the candelight.

He stopped at the window to think. An opposite shop was lighted
up; and the tradesman and a customer were reading some printed bill
together across the counter. The sight brought him back, instantly,
to the occupation he had forgotten. 'Look here! Do you know of
this? Is it found? Do you suspect me?'

A hand upon the door. 'What's that!'

'A pleasant evenin',' said the voice of Mrs Gamp, 'though warm,
which, bless you, Mr Chuzzlewit, we must expect when cowcumbers is
three for twopence. How does Mr Chuffey find his self to-night,
sir?'

Mrs Gamp kept particularly close to the door in saying this, and
curtseyed more than usual. She did not appear to be quite so much at
her ease as she generally was.

'Get him to his room,' said Jonas, walking up to her, and
speaking in her ear. 'He has been raving to-night--stark mad. Don't
talk while he's here, but come down again.'

'Poor sweet dear!' cried Mrs Gamp, with uncommon tenderness.
'He's all of a tremble.'

'Well he may be,' said Jonas, 'after the mad fit he has had.
Get him upstairs.'

She was by this time assisting him to rise.

'There's my blessed old chick!' cried Mrs Gamp, in a tone that
was at once soothing and encouraging. 'There's my darlin' Mr
Chuffey! Now come up to your own room, sir, and lay down on your bed
a bit; for you're a-shakin' all over, as if your precious jints was
hung upon wires. That's a good creetur! Come with Sairey!'

'Is she come home?' inquired the old man.

'She'll be here directly minit,' returned Mrs Gamp. 'Come with
Sairey, Mr Chuffey. Come with your own Sairey!'

The good woman had no reference to any female in the world in
promising this speedy advent of the person for whom Mr Chuffey
inquired, but merely threw it out as a means of pacifying the old
man. It had its effect, for he permitted her to lead him away; and
they quitted the room together.

Jonas looked out of the window again. They were still reading
the printed paper in the shop opposite, and a third man had joined in
the perusal. What could it be, to interest them so?'

A dispute or discussion seemed to arise among them, for they all
looked up from their reading together, and one of the three, who had
been glancing over the shoulder of another, stepped back to explain
or illustrate some action by his gestures.

Horror! How like the blow he had struck in the wood!

It beat him from the window as if it had lighted on himself. As
he staggered into a chair, he thought of the change in Mrs Gamp
exhibited in her new-born tenderness to her charge. Was that because
it was found?--because she knew of it?--because she suspected him?

'Mr Chuffey is a-lyin' down,' said Mrs Gamp, returning, 'and
much good may it do him, Mr Chuzzlewit, which harm it can't and good
it may; be joyful!'

'Sit down,' said Jonas, hoarsely, 'and let us get this business
done. Where is the other woman?'

'The other person's with him now,' she answered.

'That's right,' said Jonas. 'He is not fit to be left to
himself. Why, he fastened on me to-night; here, upon my coat; like a
savage dog. Old as he is, and feeble as he is usually, I had some
trouble to shake him off. You--Hush!--It's nothing. You told me the
other woman's name. I forget it.'

'I mentioned Betsey Prig,' said Mrs Gamp.

'She is to be trusted, is she?'

'That she ain't!' said Mrs Gamp; 'nor have I brought her, Mr
Chuzzlewit. I've brought another, which engages to give every
satigefaction.'

'What is her name?' asked Jonas.

Mrs Gamp looked at him in an odd way without returning any
answer, but appeared to understand the question too.

'What is her name?' repeated Jonas.

'Her name,' said Mrs Gamp, 'is Harris.'

It was extraordinary how much effort it cost Mrs Gamp to
pronounce the name she was commonly so ready with. She made some
three or four gasps before she could get it out; and, when she had
uttered it, pressed her hand upon her side, and turned up her eyes,
as if she were going to faint away. But, knowing her to labour under
a complication of internal disorders, which rendered a few drops of
spirits indispensable at certain times to her existence, and which
came on very strong when that remedy was not at hand, Jonas merely
supposed her to be the victim of one of these attacks.

'Well!' he said, hastily, for he felt how incapable he was of
confining his wandering attention to the subject. 'You and she have
arranged to take care of him, have you?'

Mrs Gamp replied in the affirmative, and softly discharged
herself of her familiar phrase, 'Turn and turn about; one off, one
on.' But she spoke so tremulously that she felt called upon to add,
'which fiddle-strings is weakness to expredge my nerves this
night!'

Jonas stopped to listen. Then said, hurriedly:

'We shall not quarrel about terms. Let them be the same as they
were before. Keep him close, and keep him quiet. He must be
restrained. He has got it in his head to-night that my wife's dead,
and has been attacking me as if I had killed her. It's--it's common
with mad people to take the worst fancies of those they like best.
Isn't it?'

Mrs Gamp assented with a short groan.

'Keep him close, then, or in one of his fits he'll be doing me a
mischief. And don't trust him at any time; for when he seems most
rational, he's wildest in his talk. But that you know already. Let
me see the other.'

'The t'other person, sir?' said Mrs Gamp.

'Aye! Go you to him and send the other. Quick! I'm busy.'

Mrs Gamp took two or three backward steps towards the door, and
stopped there.

'It is your wishes, Mr Chuzzlewit,' she said, in a sort of
quavering croak, 'to see the t'other person. Is it?'

But the ghastly change in Jonas told her that the other person
was already seen. Before she could look round towards the door, she
was put aside by old Martin's hand; and Chuffey and John Westlock
entered with him.

'Let no one leave the house,' said Martin. 'This man is my
brother's son. Ill-met, ill-trained, ill-begotten. If he moves from
the spot on which he stands, or speaks a word above his breath to any
person here, open the window, and call for help!'

'What right have you to give such directions in this house?'
asked Jonas faintly.

'The right of your wrong-doing. Come in there!'

An irrepressible exclamation burst from the lips of Jonas, as
Lewsome entered at the door. It was not a groan, or a shriek, or a
word, but was wholly unlike any sound that had ever fallen on the
ears of those who heard it, while at the same time it was the most
sharp and terrible expression of what was working in his guilty
breast, that nature could have invented.

He had done murder for this! He had girdled himself about with
perils, agonies of mind, innumerable fears, for this! He had hidden
his secret in the wood; pressed and stamped it down into the bloody
ground; and here it started up when least expected, miles upon miles
away; known to many; proclaiming itself from the lips of an old man
who had renewed his strength and vigour as by a miracle, to give it
voice against him!

He leaned his hand on the back of a chair, and looked at them.
It was in vain to try to do so scornfully, or with his usual
insolence. He required the chair for his support. But he made a
struggle for it.

'I know that fellow,' he said, fetching his breath at every
word, and pointing his trembling finger towards Lewsome. 'He's the
greatest liar alive. What's his last tale? Ha, ha! You're rare
fellows, too! Why, that uncle of mine is childish; he's even a
greater child than his brother, my father, was, in his old age; or
than Chuffey is. What the devil do you mean,' he added, looking
fiercely at John Westlock and Mark Tapley (the latter had entered
with Lewsome), 'by coming here, and bringing two idiots and a knave
with you to take my house by storm? Hallo, there! Open the door!
Turn these strangers out!'

'I tell you what,' cried Mr Tapley, coming forward, 'if it
wasn't for your name, I'd drag you through the streets of my own
accord, and single-handed I would! Ah, I would! Don't try and look
bold at me. You can't do it! Now go on, sir,' this was to old
Martin. 'Bring the murderin' wagabond upon his knees! If he wants
noise, he shall have enough of it; for as sure as he's a shiverin'
from head to foot I'll raise a uproar at this winder that shall bring
half London in. Go on, sir! Let him try me once, and see whether
I'm a man of my word or not.'

With that, Mark folded his arms, and took his seat upon the
window- ledge, with an air of general preparation for anything, which
seemed to imply that he was equally ready to jump out himself, or to
throw Jonas out, upon receiving the slightest hint that it would be
agreeable to the company.

Old Martin turned to Lewsome:

'This is the man,' he said, extending his hand towards Jonas.
'Is it?'

'You need do no more than look at him to be sure of that, or of
the truth of what I have said,' was the reply. 'He is my
witness.'

'Oh, brother!' cried old Martin, clasping his hands and lifting
up his eyes. 'Oh, brother, brother! Were we strangers half our
lives that you might breed a wretch like this, and I make life a
desert by withering every flower that grew about me! Is it the
natural end of your precepts and mine, that this should be the
creature of your rearing, training, teaching, hoarding, striving for;
and I the means of bringing him to punishment, when nothing can
repair the wasted past!'

He sat down upon a chair as he spoke, and turning away his face,
was silent for a few moments. Then with recovered energy he
proceeded:

'But the accursed harvest of our mistaken lives shall be trodden
down. It is not too late for that. You are confronted with this
man, you monster there; not to be spared, but to be dealt with
justly. Hear what he says! Reply, be silent, contradict, repeat,
defy, do what you please. My course will be the same. Go on! And
you,' he said to Chuffey, 'for the love of your old friend, speak
out, good fellow!'

'I have been silent for his love!' cried the old man. 'He urged
me to it. He made me promise it upon his dying bed. I never would
have spoken, but for your finding out so much. I have thought about
it ever since; I couldn't help that; and sometimes I have had it all
before me in a dream; but in the day-time, not in sleep. Is there
such a kind of dream?' said Chuffey, looking anxiously in old
Martin's face.

As Martin made him an encouraging reply, he listened attentively
to his voice, and smiled.

'Ah, aye!' he cried. 'He often spoke to me like that. We were
at school together, he and I. I couldn't turn against his son, you
know--his only son, Mr Chuzzlewit!'

'I would to Heaven you had been his son!' said Martin.

'You speak so like my dear old master,' cried the old man with a
childish delight, 'that I almost think I hear him. I can hear you
quite as well as I used to hear him. It makes me young again. He
never spoke unkindly to me, and I always understood him. I could
always see him too, though my sight was dim. Well, well! He's dead,
he's dead. He was very good to me, my dear old master!'

He shook his head mournfully over the brother's hand. At this
moment Mark, who had been glancing out of the window, left the
room.

'I couldn't turn against his only son, you know,' said Chuffey.
'He has nearly driven me to do it sometimes; he very nearly did
tonight. Ah!' cried the old man, with a sudden recollection of the
cause. 'Where is she? She's not come home!'

'Do you mean his wife?' said Mr Chuzzlewit.

'Yes.'

'I have removed her. She is in my care, and will be spared the
present knowledge of what is passing here. She has known misery
enough, without that addition.'

Jonas heard this with a sinking heart. He knew that they were
on his heels, and felt that they were resolute to run him to
destruction. Inch by inch the ground beneath him was sliding from
his feet; faster and faster the encircling ruin contracted and
contracted towards himself, its wicked centre, until it should close
in and crush him.

And now he heard the voice of his accomplice stating to his
face, with every circumstance of time and place and incident; and
openly proclaiming, with no reserve, suppression, passion, or
concealment; all the truth. The truth, which nothing would keep
down; which blood would not smother, and earth would not hide; the
truth, whose terrible inspiration seemed to change dotards into
strong men; and on whose avenging wings, one whom he had supposed to
be at the extremest corner of the earth came swooping down upon
him.

He tried to deny it, but his tongue would not move. He
conceived some desperate thought of rushing away, and tearing through
the streets; but his limbs would as little answer to his will as his
stark, stiff staring face. All this time the voice went slowly on,
denouncing him. It was as if every drop of blood in the wood had
found a voice to jeer him with.

When it ceased, another voice took up the tale, but strangely;
for the old clerk, who had watched, and listened to the whole, and
had wrung his hands from time to time, as if he knew its truth and
could confirm it, broke in with these words:

'No, no, no! you're wrong; you're wrong--all wrong together!
Have patience, for the truth is only known to me!'

'How can that be,' said his old master's brother, 'after what
you have heard? Besides, you said just now, above-stairs, when I
told you of the accusation against him, that you knew he was his
father's murderer.'

'Aye, yes! and so he was!' cried Chuffey, wildly. 'But not as
you suppose--not as you suppose. Stay! Give me a moment's time. I
have it all here--all here! It was foul, foul, cruel, bad; but not
as you suppose. Stay, stay!'

He put his hands up to his head, as if it throbbed or pained
him. After looking about him in a wandering and vacant manner for
some moments, his eyes rested upon Jonas, when they kindled up with
sudden recollection and intelligence.

'Yes!' cried old Chuffey, 'yes! That's how it was. It's all
upon me now. He--he got up from his bed before he died, to be sure,
to say that he forgave him; and he came down with me into this room;
and when he saw him--his only son, the son he loved--his speech
forsook him; he had no speech for what he knew--and no one understood
him except me. But I did--I did!'

Old Martin regarded him in amazement; so did his companions.
Mrs Gamp, who had said nothing yet; but had kept two-thirds of
herself behind the door, ready for escape, and one-third in the room,
ready for siding with the strongest party; came a little further in
and remarked, with a sob, that Mr Chuffey was 'the sweetest old
creetur goin'.'

'He bought the stuff,' said Chuffey, stretching out his arm
towards Jonas while an unwonted fire shone in his eye, and lightened
up his face; 'he bought the stuff, no doubt, as you have heard, and
brought it home. He mixed the stuff--look at him!--with some
sweetmeat in a jar, exactly as the medicine for his father's cough
was mixed, and put it in a drawer; in that drawer yonder in the desk;
he knows which drawer I mean! He kept it there locked up. But his
courage failed him or his heart was touched--my God! I hope it was
his heart! He was his only son!--and he did not put it in the usual
place, where my old master would have taken it twenty times a
day.'

The trembling figure of the old man shook with the strong
emotions that possessed him. But, with the same light in his eye,
and with his arm outstretched, and with his grey hair stirring on his
head, he seemed to grow in size, and was like a man inspired. Jonas
shrunk from looking at him, and cowered down into the chair by which
he had held. It seemed as if this tremendous Truth could make the
dumb speak.

'I know it every word now!' cried Chuffey. 'Every word! He put
it in that drawer, as I have said. He went so often there, and was
so secret, that his father took notice of it; and when he was out,
had it opened. We were there together, and we found the mixture--Mr
Chuzzlewit and I. He took it into his possession, and made light of
it at the time; but in the night he came to my bedside, weeping, and
told me that his own son had it in his mind to poison him. "Oh,
Chuff," he said, "oh, dear old Chuff! a voice came into my room
to-night, and told me that this crime began with me. It began when I
taught him to be too covetous of what I have to leave, and made the
expectation of it his great business!" Those were his words; aye,
they are his very words! If he was a hard man now and then, it was
for his only son. He loved his only son, and he was always good to
me!'

Jonas listened with increased attention. Hope was breaking in
upon him.

'"He shall not weary for my death, Chuff;" that was what he said
next,' pursued the old clerk, as he wiped his eyes; 'that was what he
said next, crying like a little child: "He shall not weary for my
death, Chuff. He shall have it now; he shall marry where he has a
fancy, Chuff, although it don't please me; and you and I will go away
and live upon a little. I always loved him; perhaps he'll love me
then. It's a dreadful thing to have my own child thirsting for my
death. But I might have known it. I have sown, and I must reap. He
shall believe that I am taking this; and when I see that he is sorry,
and has all he wants, I'll tell him that I found it out, and I'll
forgive him. He'll make a better man of his own son, and be a better
man himself, perhaps, Chuff!"'

Poor Chuffey paused to dry his eyes again. Old Martin's face
was hidden in his hands. Jonas listened still more keenly, and his
breast heaved like a swollen water, but with hope. With growing
hope.

'My dear old master made believe next day,' said Chuffey, 'that
he had opened the drawer by mistake with a key from the bunch, which
happened to fit it (we had one made and hung upon it); and that he
had been surprised to find his fresh supply of cough medicine in such
a place, but supposed it had been put there in a hurry when the
drawer stood open. We burnt it; but his son believed that he was
taking it--he knows he did. Once Mr Chuzzlewit, to try him, took
heart to say it had a strange taste; and he got up directly, and went
out.'

Jonas gave a short, dry cough; and, changing his position for an
easier one, folded his arms without looking at them, though they
could now see his face.

'Mr Chuzzlewit wrote to her father; I mean the father of the
poor thing who's his wife,' said Chuffey; 'and got him to come up,
intending to hasten on the marriage. But his mind, like mine, went a
little wrong through grief, and then his heart broke. He sank and
altered from the time when he came to me in the night; and never held
up his head again. It was only a few days, but he had never changed
so much in twice the years. "Spare him, Chuff!" he said, before he
died. They were the only words he could speak. "Spare him, Chuff!"
I promised him I would. I've tried to do it. He's his only son.'

On his recollection of the last scene in his old friend's life,
poor Chuffey's voice, which had grown weaker and weaker, quite
deserted him. Making a motion with his hand, as if he would have
said that Anthony had taken it, and had died with it in his, he
retreated to the corner where he usually concealed his sorrows; and
was silent.

Jonas could look at his company now, and vauntingly too.
'Well!' he said, after a pause. 'Are you satisfied? or have you any
more of your plots to broach? Why that fellow, Lewsome, can invent
'em for you by the score. Is this all? Have you nothing else?'

Old Martin looked at him steadily.

'Whether you are what you seemed to be at Pecksniff's, or are
something else and a mountebank, I don't know and I don't care,' said
Jonas, looking downward with a smile, 'but I don't want you here.
You were here so often when your brother was alive, and were always
so fond of him (your dear, dear brother, and you would have been
cuffing one another before this, ecod!), that I am not surprised at
your being attached to the place; but the place is not attached to
you, and you can't leave it too soon, though you may leave it too
late. And for my wife, old man, send her home straight, or it will
be the worse for her. Ha, ha! You carry it with a high hand, too!
But it isn't hanging yet for a man to keep a penn'orth of poison for
his own purposes, and have it taken from him by two old crazy
jolter-heads who go and act a play about it. Ha, ha! Do you see the
door?'

His base triumph, struggling with his cowardice, and shame, and
guilt, was so detestable, that they turned away from him, as if he
were some obscene and filthy animal, repugnant to the sight. And
here that last black crime was busy with him too; working within him
to his perdition. But for that, the old clerk's story might have
touched him, though never so lightly; but for that, the sudden
removal of so great a load might have brought about some wholesome
change even in him. With that deed done, however; with that
unnecessary wasteful danger haunting him; despair was in his very
triumph and relief; wild, ungovernable, raging despair, for the
uselessness of the peril into which he had plunged; despair that
hardened him and maddened him, and set his teeth a-grinding in a
moment of his exultation.

'My good friend!' said old Martin, laying his hand on Chuffey's
sleeve. 'This is no place for you to remain in. Come with me.'

'Just his old way!' cried Chuffey, looking up into his face. 'I
almost believe it's Mr Chuzzlewit alive again. Yes! Take me with
you! Stay, though, stay.'

'For what?' asked old Martin.

'I can't leave her, poor thing!' said Chuffey. 'She has been
very good to me. I can't leave her, Mr Chuzzlewit. Thank you
kindly. I'll remain here. I haven't long to remain; it's no great
matter.'

As he meekly shook his poor, grey head, and thanked old Martin
in these words, Mrs Gamp, now entirely in the room, was affected to
tears.

'The mercy as it is!' she said, 'as sech a dear, good, reverend
creetur never got into the clutches of Betsey Prig, which but for me
he would have done, undoubted; facts bein' stubborn and not easy
drove!'

'You heard me speak to you just now, old man,' said Jonas to his
uncle. 'I'll have no more tampering with my people, man or woman. Do
you see the door?'

'Do you see the door?' returned the voice of Mark, coming from
that direction. 'Look at it!'

He looked, and his gaze was nailed there. Fatal, ill-omened
blighted threshold, cursed by his father's footsteps in his dying
hour, cursed by his young wife's sorrowing tread, cursed by the daily
shadow of the old clerk's figure, cursed by the crossing of his
murderer's feet--what men were standing in the door way!

Nadgett foremost.

Hark! It came on, roaring like a sea! Hawkers burst into the
street, crying it up and down; windows were thrown open that the
inhabitants might hear it; people stopped to listen in the road and
on the pavement; the bells, the same bells, began to ring; tumbling
over one another in a dance of boisterous joy at the discovery (that
was the sound they had in his distempered thoughts), and making their
airy play-ground rock.

'That is the man,' said Nadgett. 'By the window!'

Three others came in, laid hands upon him, and secured him. It
was so quickly done, that he had not lost sight of the informer's
face for an instant when his wrists were manacled together.

'Murder,' said Nadgett, looking round on the astonished group.
'Let no one interfere.'

The sounding street repeated Murder; barbarous and dreadful
Murder. Murder, Murder, Murder. Rolling on from house to house, and
echoing from stone to stone, until the voices died away into the
distant hum, which seemed to mutter the same word!

They all stood silent: listening, and gazing in each other's
faces, as the noise passed on.

Old Martin was the first to speak. 'What terrible history is
this?' he demanded.

'Ask him,' said Nadgett. 'You're his friend, sir. He can tell
you, if he will. He knows more of it than I do, though I know
much.'

'How do you know much?'

'I have not been watching him so long for nothing,' returned
Nadgett. 'I never watched a man so close as I have watched him.'

Another of the phantom forms of this terrific Truth! Another of
the many shapes in which it started up about him, out of vacancy.
This man, of all men in the world, a spy upon him; this man, changing
his identity; casting off his shrinking, purblind, unobservant
character, and springing up into a watchful enemy! The dead man
might have come out of his grave, and not confounded and appalled him
more.

The game was up. The race was at an end; the rope was woven for
his neck. If, by a miracle, he could escape from this strait, he had
but to turn his face another way, no matter where, and there would
rise some new avenger front to front with him; some infant in an hour
grown old, or old man in an hour grown young, or blind man with his
sight restored, or deaf man with his hearing given him. There was no
chance. He sank down in a heap against the wall, and never hoped
again from that moment.

'I am not his friend, although I have the honour to be his
relative,' said Mr Chuzzlewit. 'You may speak to me. Where have you
watched, and what have you seen?'

'I have watched in many places,' returned Nadgett, 'night and
day. I have watched him lately, almost without rest or relief;' his
anxious face and bloodshot eyes confirmed it. 'I little thought to
what my watching was to lead. As little as he did when he slipped
out in the night, dressed in those clothes which he afterwards sunk
in a bundle at London Bridge!'

Jonas moved upon the ground like a man in bodily torture. He
uttered a suppressed groan, as if he had been wounded by some cruel
weapon; and plucked at the iron band upon his wrists, as though (his
hands being free) he would have torn himself.

'Steady, kinsman!' said the chief officer of the party. 'Don't
be violent.'

'Whom do you call kinsman?' asked old Martin sternly.

'You,' said the man, 'among others.'

Martin turned his scrutinizing gaze upon him. He was sitting
lazily across a chair with his arms resting on the back; eating nuts,
and throwing the shells out of window as he cracked them, which he
still continued to do while speaking.

'Aye,' he said, with a sulky nod. 'You may deny your nephews
till you die; but Chevy Slyme is Chevy Slyme still, all the world
over. Perhaps even you may feel it some disgrace to your own blood to
be employed in this way. I'm to be bought off.'

'At every turn!' cried Martin. 'Self, self, self. Every one
among them for himself!'

'You had better save one or two among them the trouble then and
be for them as well as yourself,' replied his nephew. 'Look here at
me! Can you see the man of your family who has more talent in his
little finger than all the rest in their united brains, dressed as a
police officer without being ashamed? I took up with this trade on
purpose to shame you. I didn't think I should have to make a capture
in the family, though.'

'If your debauchery, and that of your chosen friends, has really
brought you to this level,' returned the old man, 'keep it. You are
living honestly, I hope, and that's something.'

'Don't be hard upon my chosen friends,' returned Slyme, 'for
they were sometimes your chosen friends too. Don't say you never
employed my friend Tigg, for I know better. We quarrelled upon
it.'

'I hired the fellow,' retorted Mr Chuzzlewit, 'and I paid
him.'

'It's well you paid him,' said his nephew, 'for it would be too
late to do so now. He has given his receipt in full; or had it
forced from him rather.'

The old man looked at him as if he were curious to know what he
meant, but scorned to prolong the conversation.

'I have always expected that he and I would be brought together
again in the course of business,' said Slyme, taking a fresh handful
of nuts from his pocket; 'but I thought he would be wanted for some
swindling job; it never entered my head that I should hold a warrant
for the apprehension of his murderer.'

'His murderer!' cried Mr Chuzzlewit, looking from one to
another.

'His or Mr Montague's,' said Nadgett. 'They are the same, I am
told. I accuse him yonder of the murder of Mr Montague, who was
found last night, killed, in a wood. You will ask me why I accuse
him as you have already asked me how I know so much. I'll tell you.
It can't remain a secret long.'

The ruling passion of the man expressed itself even then, in the
tone of regret in which he deplored the approaching publicity of what
he knew.

'I told you I had watched him,' he proceeded. 'I was instructed
to do so by Mr Montague, in whose employment I have been for some
time. We had our suspicions of him; and you know what they pointed
at, for you have been discussing it since we have been waiting here,
outside the room. If you care to hear, now it's all over, in what
our suspicions began, I'll tell you plainly: in a quarrel (it first
came to our ears through a hint of his own) between him and another
office in which his father's life was insured, and which had so much
doubt and distrust upon the subject, that he compounded with them,
and took half the money; and was glad to do it. Bit by bit, I
ferreted out more circumstances against him, and not a few. It
required a little patience, but it's my calling. I found the nurse
--here she is to confirm me; I found the doctor, I found the
undertaker, I found the undertaker's man. I found out how the old
gentleman there, Mr Chuffey, had behaved at the funeral; and I found
out what this man,' touching Lewsome on the arm, 'had talked about in
his fever. I found out how he conducted himself before his father's
death, and how since and how at the time; and writing it all down,
and putting it carefully together, made case enough for Mr Montague
to tax him with the crime, which (as he himself believed until
to-night) he had committed. I was by when this was done. You see
him now. He is only worse than he was then.'

Oh, miserable, miserable fool! oh, insupportable, excruciating
torture! To find alive and active--a party to it all--the brain and
right-hand of the secret he had thought to crush! In whom, though he
had walled the murdered man up, by enchantment in a rock, the story
would have lived and walked abroad! He tried to stop his ears with
his fettered arms, that he might shut out the rest.

As he crouched upon the floor, they drew away from him as if a
pestilence were in his breath. They fell off, one by one, from that
part of the room, leaving him alone upon the ground. Even those who
had him in their keeping shunned him, and (with the exception of
Slyme, who was still occupied with his nuts) kept apart.

'From that garret-window opposite,' said Nadgett, pointing
across the narrow street, 'I have watched this house and him for days
and nights. From that garret-window opposite I saw him return home,
alone, from a journey on which he had set out with Mr Montague. That
was my token that Mr Montague's end was gained; and I might rest easy
on my watch, though I was not to leave it until he dismissed me.
But, standing at the door opposite, after dark that same night, I saw
a countryman steal out of this house, by a side- door in the court,
who had never entered it. I knew his walk, and that it was himself,
disguised. I followed him immediately. I lost him on the western
road, still travelling westward.'

Jonas looked up at him for an instant, and muttered an oath.

'I could not comprehend what this meant,' said Nadgett; 'but,
having seen so much, I resolved to see it out, and through. And I
did. Learning, on inquiry at his house from his wife, that he was
supposed to be sleeping in the room from which I had seen him go out,
and that he had given strict orders not to be disturbed, I knew that
he was coming back; and for his coming back I watched. I kept my
watch in the street--in doorways, and such places--all that night; at
the same window, all next day; and when night came on again, in the
street once more. For I knew he would come back, as he had gone out,
when this part of the town was empty. He did. Early in the morning,
the same countryman came creeping, creeping, creeping home.'

'Look sharp!' interposed Slyme, who had now finished his nuts.
'This is quite irregular, Mr Nadgett.'

'I kept at the window all day,' said Nadgett, without heeding
him. 'I think I never closed my eyes. At night, I saw him come out
with a bundle. I followed him again. He went down the steps at
London Bridge, and sunk it in the river. I now began to entertain
some serious fears, and made a communication to the Police, which
caused that bundle to be--'

'To be fished up,' interrupted Slyme. 'Be alive, Mr
Nadgett.'

'It contained the dress I had seen him wear,' said Nadgett;
'stained with clay, and spotted with blood. Information of the
murder was received in town last night. The wearer of that dress is
already known to have been seen near the place; to have been lurking
in that neighbourhood; and to have alighted from a coach coming from
that part of the country, at a time exactly tallying with the very
minute when I saw him returning home. The warrant has been out, and
these officers have been with me, some hours. We chose our time; and
seeing you come in, and seeing this person at the window--'

'Beckoned to him,' said Mark, taking up the thread of the
narrative, on hearing this allusion to himself, 'to open the door;
which he did with a deal of pleasure.'

'That's all at present,' said Nadgett, putting up his great
pocketbook, which from mere habit he had produced when he began his
revelation, and had kept in his hand all the time; 'but there is
plenty more to come. You asked me for the facts, so far I have
related them, and need not detain these gentlemen any longer. Are
you ready, Mr Slyme?'

'And something more,' replied that worthy, rising. 'If you walk
round to the office, we shall be there as soon as you. Tom! Get a
coach!'

The officer to whom he spoke departed for that purpose. Old
Martin lingered for a few moments, as if he would have addressed some
words to Jonas; but looking round, and seeing him still seated on the
floor, rocking himself in a savage manner to and fro, took Chuffey's
arm, and slowly followed Nadgett out. John Westlock and Mark Tapley
accompanied them. Mrs Gamp had tottered out first, for the better
display of her feelings, in a kind of walking swoon; for Mrs Gamp
performed swoons of different sorts, upon a moderate notice, as Mr
Mould did Funerals.

'Ha!' muttered Slyme, looking after them. 'Upon my soul! As
insensible of being disgraced by having such a nephew as myself, in
such a situation, as he was of my being an honour and a credit to the
family! That's the return I get for having humbled my spirit-- such
a spirit as mine--to earn a livelihood, is it?'

He got up from his chair, and kicked it away indignantly.

'And such a livelihood too! When there are hundreds of men, not
fit to hold a candle to me, rolling in carriages and living on their
fortunes. Upon my soul it's a nice world!'

His eyes encountered Jonas, who looked earnestly towards him,
and moved his lips as if he were whispering.

'Eh?' said Slyme.

Jonas glanced at the attendant whose back was towards him, and
made a clumsy motion with his bound hands towards the door.

'Humph!' said Slyme, thoughtfully. 'I couldn't hope to disgrace
him into anything when you have shot so far ahead of me though. I
forgot that.'

Jonas repeated the same look and gesture.

'Jack!' said Slyme.

'Hallo!' returned his man.

'Go down to the door, ready for the coach. Call out when it
comes. I'd rather have you there. Now then,' he added, turning
hastily to Jonas, when the man was gone. 'What's the matter?'

Jonas essayed to rise.

'Stop a bit,' said Slyme. 'It's not so easy when your wrists
are tight together. Now then! Up! What is it?'

'Put your hand in my pocket. Here! The breast pocket, on the
left!' said Jonas.

He did so; and drew out a purse.

'There's a hundred pound in it,' said Jonas, whose words were
almost unintelligible; as his face, in its pallor and agony, was
scarcely human.

Slyme looked at him; gave it into his hands; and shook his
head.

'I can't. I daren't. I couldn't if I dared. Those fellows
below--'

'Escape's impossible,' said Jonas. 'I know it. One hundred
pound for only five minutes in the next room!'

'What to do?' he asked.

The face of his prisoner as he advanced to whisper in his ear,
made him recoil involuntarily. But he stopped and listened to him.
The words were few, but his own face changed as he heard them.

'I have it about me,' said Jonas, putting his hands to his
throat, as though whatever he referred to were hidden in his
neckerchief. 'How should you know of it? How could you know? A
hundred pound for only five minutes in the next room! The time's
passing. Speak!'

'It would be more--more creditable to the family,' observed
Slyme, with trembling lips. 'I wish you hadn't told me half so much.
Less would have served your purpose. You might have kept it to
yourself.'

'A hundred pound for only five minutes in the next room!
Speak!' cried Jonas, desperately.

He took the purse. Jonas, with a wild unsteady step, retreated
to the door in the glass partition.

'Stop!' cried Slyme, catching at his skirts. 'I don't know
about this. Yet it must end so at last. Are you guilty?'

'Yes!' said Jonas.

'Are the proofs as they were told just now?'

'Yes!' said Jonas.

'Will you--will you engage to say a--a Prayer, now, or something
of that sort?' faltered Slyme.

Jonas broke from him without replying, and closed the door
between them.

Slyme listened at the keyhole. After that, he crept away on
tiptoe, as far off as he could; and looked awfully towards the place.
He was roused by the arrival of the coach, and their letting down
the steps.

'He's getting a few things together,' he said, leaning out of
window, and speaking to the two men below, who stood in the full
light of a street-lamp. 'Keep your eye upon the back, one of you,
for form's sake.'

One of the men withdrew into the court. The other, seating
himself self on the steps of the coach, remained in conversation with
Slyme at the window who perhaps had risen to be his superior, in
virtue of his old propensity (one so much lauded by the murdered man)
of being always round the corner. A useful habit in his present
calling.

'Where is he?' asked the man.

Slyme looked into the room for an instant and gave his head a
jerk as much as to say, 'Close at hand. I see him.'

'He's booked,' observed the man.

'Through,' said Slyme.

They looked at each other, and up and down the street. The man
on the coach-steps took his hat off, and put it on again, and
whistled a little.

'I say! He's taking his time!' he remonstrated.

'I allowed him five minutes,' said Slyme. 'Time's more than up,
though. I'll bring him down.'

He withdrew from the window accordingly, and walked on tiptoe to
the door in the partition. He listened. There was not a sound
within. He set the candles near it, that they might shine through the
glass.

It was not easy, he found, to make up his mind to the opening of
the door. But he flung it wide open suddenly, and with a noise; then
retreated. After peeping in and listening again, he entered.

He started back as his eyes met those of Jonas, standing in an
angle of the wall, and staring at him. His neckerchief was off; his
face was ashy pale.

'You're too soon,' said Jonas, with an abject whimper. 'I've
not had time. I have not been able to do it. I--five minutes
more--two minutes more!--only one!'

Slyme gave him no reply, but thrusting the purse upon him and
forcing it back into his pocket, called up his men.

He whined, and cried, and cursed, and entreated them, and
struggled, and submitted, in the same breath, and had no power to
stand. They got him away and into the coach, where they put him on a
seat; but he soon fell moaning down among the straw at the bottom,
and lay there.

The two men were with him. Slyme being on the box with the
driver; and they let him lie. Happening to pass a fruiterer's on
their way; the door of which was open, though the shop was by this
time shut; one of them remarked how faint the peaches smelled.

The other assented at the moment, but presently stooped down in
quick alarm, and looked at the prisoner.

'Stop the coach! He has poisoned himself! The smell comes from
this bottle in his hand!'

The hand had shut upon it tight. With that rigidity of grasp
with which no living man, in the full strength and energy of life,
can clutch a prize he has won.

They dragged him out into the dark street; but jury, judge, and
hangman, could have done no more, and could do nothing now. Dead,
dead, dead.