It was curious to observe some faces which stood out prominently from among the group. There was the chairman himself, (the landlord of the house,) a coarse, rough, heavy built fellow, who, while the songs were proceeding, rolled his eyes hither and thither, and, seeming to give himself up to joviality, had an eye for everything that was done, and an ear for everything that was said—and sharp ones, too. Near him were the singers: receiving, with professional indifference, the compliments of the company and applying themselves, in turn, to a dozen proffered glasses of spirits and water, tendered by their more boisterous admirers; whose countenances, expressive of almost every vice in almost every grade, irresistibly attracted the attention, by their very repulsiveness. Cunning, ferocity, and drunkenness in all its stages, were there, in their strongest aspect; and women: some with the last lingering tinge of their early freshness almost fading as you looked: others with every mark and stamp of their sex utterly beaten out, and presenting but one loathsome blank of profligacy and crime; some mere girls, others but young women, and none past the prime of life; formed the darkest and saddest portion of this dreary picture.
Fagin, troubled by no grave emotions, looked eagerly from face to face while these proceedings were in progress; but apparently without meeting that of which he was in search. Succeeding, at length, in catching the eye of the man who occupied the chair, he beckoned to him slightly, and left the room, as quietly as he had entered it.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Fagin?” inquired the man, as he followed him out to the landing. “Won’t you join us? They’ll be delighted, every one of ’em.”
The Jew shook his head impatiently, and said in a whisper, “Is he here?”
“No,” replied the man.
“And no news of Barney?” inquired Fagin.
“None,” replied the landlord of the Cripples; for it was he. “He won’t stir till it’s all safe. Depend on it, they’re on the scent down there; and that if he moved, he’d blow upon the thing at once. He’s all right enough, Barney is, else I should have heard of him. I’ll pound it, that Barney’s managing properly. Let him alone for that.”
“Will he be here to-night?” asked the Jew, laying the same emphasis on the pronoun as before.
“Monks, do you mean?” inquired the landlord, hesitating.
“Hush!” said the Jew. “Yes.”
“Certain,” replied the man, drawing a gold watch from his fob; “I expected him before now. If you’ll wait ten minutes, he’ll be—”
“No, no,” said the Jew, hastily; as though, however desirous he might be to see the person in question, he was nevertheless relieved by his absence. “Tell him I came here to see him; and that he must come to me to-night. No, say to-morrow. As he is not here, to-morrow will be time enough.”
“Good!” said the man. “Nothing more?”
“Not a word now,” said the Jew, descending the stairs.
“I say,” said the other, looking over the rails, and speaking in a hoarse whisper; “what a time this would be for a sell! I’ve got Phil Barker here: so drunk, that a boy might take him.”
“Ah! But it’s not Phil Barker’s time,” said the Jew, looking up. “Phil has something more to do, before we can afford to part with him; so go back to the company, my dear, and tell them to lead merry lives—while they last. Ha! ha! ha!”
The landlord reciprocated the old man’s laugh; and returned to his guests. The Jew was no sooner alone, than his countenance resumed its former expression of anxiety and thought. After a brief reflection, he called a hack-cabriolet, and bade the man drive towards Bethnal Green. He dismissed him within some quarter of a mile of Mr. Sikes’s residence, and performed the short remainder of the distance, on foot,
“Now,” muttered the Jew, as he knocked at the door, “if there is any deep play here, I shall have it out of you, my girl, cunning as you are.”
She was in her room, the woman said. Fagin crept softly upstairs, and entered it without any previous ceremony. The girl was alone; lying with her head upon the table, and her hair straggling over it.