Bildungsromans; Boys -- Fiction; Criminals -- Fiction; Kidnapping victims -- Fiction; London (England) -- Fiction; Orphans -- Fiction
“Stay there,” whispered Fagin. He signed to Barney, who withdrew. In
an instant the lad entered the room adjoining, and, under pretence of
snuffing the candle, moved it into the required position, and, speaking
to the girl, caused her to raise her face.
“I see her now,” cried the spy.
“Plainly?” asked the Jew.
“I should know her among a thousand.”
He hastily descended as the room-door opened, and the girl came out.
Fagin drew him behind a small partition which was curtained off, and
they held their breaths as she passed within a few feet of their place
of concealment, and emerged by the door at which they had entered.
“Hist!” cried the lad who held the door. “Now.”
Noah exchanged a look with Fagin, and darted out.
“To the left,” whispered the lad; “take the left hand, and keep on the
other side.”
He did so, and by the light of the lamps saw the girl’s retreating
figure already at some distance before him. He advanced as near as he
considered prudent, and kept on the opposite side of the street, the
better to observe her motions. She looked nervously round twice or
thrice, and once stopped to let two men who were following close behind
her pass on. She seemed to gather courage as she advanced, and to walk
with a steadier and firmer step. The spy preserved the same relative
distance between them, and followed with his eye upon her.
CHAPTER XLIV.
THE APPOINTMENT KEPT.
THE church clocks chimed three quarters past eleven as two figures
emerged on London Bridge. One, which advanced with a swift and rapid
step, was that of a woman, who looked eagerly about her as though in
quest of some expected object; the other figure was that of a man, who
slunk along in the deepest shadow he could find, and at some distance
accommodated his pace to hers, stopping when she stopped, and, as she
moved again, creeping stealthily on, but never allowing himself, in the
ardour of his pursuit, to gain upon her footsteps. Thus they crossed
the bridge from the Middlesex to the Surrey shore, when the woman,
apparently disappointed in her anxious scrutiny of the foot-passengers,
turned back. The movement was sudden, but he who watched her was not
thrown off his guard by it, for shrinking into one of the recesses
which surmount the piers of the bridge, and leaning over the parapet
the better to conceal his figure, he suffered her to pass by on the
opposite pavement, and when she was about the same distance in advance
as she had been before, he slipped quietly down and followed her again.
At nearly the centre of the bridge she stopped. The man stopped too.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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