Chapter 27 Chapter Twenty Six

(In this chapter, a mysterious character enters the scene, and many things happen that are inseparable from this biography.) Old man Fagin ran as far as the corner before he began to recover from the effects of Toby Crackit's news.He didn't slow down his extraordinary pace at all, and still ran forward crazily.Suddenly, a carriage sped past him, and the passers-by shouted when they saw that he was almost buried under the carriage, and he was so frightened that he returned to the sidewalk.The old Jew tried his best to avoid the bustling streets, slipped dodgyly through alleys and alleys, and finally came to Snow Mountain.Here, his steps quickened, and without delay, he turned into a short alley again.Only then did he seem to realize that he had entered his territory, and he resumed his usual lazy gait, and his breathing seemed to be relatively free.

At the intersection of Snow Hill and Holborn Hill, just to the right from the old city of London, there is a narrow and dark alley leading to Red Flower Hill.There were bundles of old silk handkerchiefs of all kinds and colors in several dingy shops in the alley, and the dealers who bought them from the thieves lived in the shops.Thousands of hands are dangling on the bamboo nails outside the window, or fluttering in the wind on the doorpost, and the shelves are full of hand towels.Although it is as narrow and closed as Phil's Alley, it also has its own barber shop, coffee shop, beer shop and small shop selling fried fish.This is a self-contained business district, a market for petty theft.From early morning to dusk, there are some taciturn traders wandering in this area. They negotiate business in the dark back room, and their departure is as mysterious as when they came.Here, tailors, shoemakers, and rag collectors all display their wares, which are like billboards to thieves.Scrapped iron, bonework, and heaps of woolen and linen scraps stashed in the filthy cellar smelled musty and were rusting and rotting.

It was to this place that old man Fagin turned into.He was very familiar with the sallow-faced and thin residents in the alley. When he walked past, many people who were doing business at the door of the shop nodded to him affectionately, and he also nodded in return, that's all, not much to say.He didn't stop until he reached the end of the alley to greet a small shopkeeper who was sitting in front of the shop smoking a pipe, squeezed into a child's seat. "Well, the sight of you, Mr. Fagin, can open the eyes of a blind man," said the venerable tradesman, thanking the old Jew for his greeting.

"It's too hot here, Levoli," said Fagin, raising his eyebrows, and folding his hands on his arms. "Yeah, I've heard that complaint once or twice," replied the boss, "but it's going to cool off soon enough, don't you see?" Fei Jin nodded his head in agreement, pointed to the direction of Honghua Mountain and asked if anyone was going there tonight. "You mean the Cripple Hotel?" the man asked. The old Jew nodded. "Let's think about it," the boss thought for a while, and then said, "Yes, six or seven people have gone there, as far as I know. Your friend doesn't seem to be there."

"Didn't see Sikes, did you?" asked the old Jew with a look of disappointment. "Not present, according to the lawyer," said the little man, shaking his head, and uttering a sinister expression in broken Latin. "What do you have for me tonight?" "Not tonight." The old Jew turned and left. "Fagin, are you going to the tumor shop?" the little man called him from behind. "Wait a minute. I'd rather have a drink or two with you there." The old Jew just turned his head and glanced, waved his hand, expressing that he would rather go alone, besides, it was really not easy for the little man to break free from the chair, so this time the Cripple Hotel lost Mr. Leighley to go with him an honor.When he managed to stand up, the old Jew had disappeared.Mr. Livery stood on tiptoe, hoping to see him again, but in vain.He had to squeeze himself into the little chair again, exchanged a nod of greetings, apparently mingled with suspicion and mistrust, to a lady in the shop opposite, and smoked his pipe with style.

The Three Cripples, the signboard of a hotel, commonly known as the Cripple's Shop by a group of regulars, had been visited by Mr. Sykes and his dog.After gesturing to a man in the bar, Fagin went straight upstairs, opened a door, and slipped in quietly.Blocking the light with one hand, he looked around anxiously, apparently looking for someone. Two gas lamps were lit in the room, the shutters were closed, and the faded red curtains were drawn tightly so that no light could penetrate.The ceiling was painted black, and any other color would be blackened by the candlelight anyway.There was so much smoke billowing in the room that it was almost impossible to distinguish anything when one walked in.Gradually, however, part of the smoke escaped through the open door, and it became apparent that the room was a mass of minds as disorganized as the noise that poured into the ears.As the eyes gradually adapt to the environment, onlookers can see that there are many visitors in the room. Men and women are crowded around a long table. At the head of the table is the chairman holding a commander's hammer. One has a blue nose and his face is bandaged due to toothache. A professional is sitting in a corner of the room, tinkling and playing a piano.

Fagin walked in softly, and the professional's fingers slid across the keyboard in the manner of playing an overture, resulting in a general call for song order.After the uproar had subsided, a young lady presented a ballad with four stanzas. Between each stanza, the accompanist had to play the tune from the beginning, and he played it with all his strength. The price is sky-high.After the song was sung, the superior expressed his feelings, and then the two professionals sitting around the chairman volunteered to sing a duet, which won a lot of applause. What is really interesting is to observe some of the outstanding faces.The chairman himself (and the owner) is a rough, brusque, big-bodied fellow, and while the singing is going on, his eyes are rolling around, as if intoxicated with joy, and he observes everything that is going on with one eye. , with one ear for everything people say - both are keen.The singers around him, all with professional indifference, accepted the praise and downed the dozen or so glasses of watered-down offered by increasingly raucous admirers.The evil expressions on the faces of these admirers can be said to be almost everything, and they are in almost every stage. It is this hateful expression on their faces that makes people have to look at it.The treachery, ferocity and varying degrees of drunkenness on their faces are vividly expressed.The women—there were a few of the women who retained the last faint trace of youth that was almost fading away.Others had lost all traces and marks of femininity, and presented only a disgusting husk left by fornication and crime, some were only girls, others young women, Neither had yet passed the golden age of life - forming the darkest and bleakest part of this dreadful picture.

It was no noble feeling that troubled Fagin, and while all this was going on he looked eagerly from face to face, but evidently did not see the one he was looking for.Then, he finally caught the eyes of the person sitting on the chairman's seat, waved to him slightly, and left the room as silently as when he entered. "Is there anything I can do for you, Mr. Fagin?" asked the man, following him to the landing. "Aren't you happy with everyone? They must be happy, and everyone will be very happy." Fagin shook his head irritably, and said in a low voice, "Is he here?"

"No." The man replied "No news from Barney either?" asked Fagin. "No," replied the man, who was the owner of the cripple shop. "He won't come out until everything is safe. I'm sure there are clues over there. As long as he moves, he will be taken away immediately." This shit is fucked up. He's fine, and so is Barney, or I'd hear from him too. I bet Barney's going to be fine. That's up to him." "Will he come here tonight?" The old Jew said the word "he" as emphatically as before. "Moncos, what do you mean?" the boss asked hesitantly.

"Hush!" said the old Jew, "yes." "Certainly will come," said the boss, pulling a gold watch from his watch pocket. "Just now I thought he was here, you just have to wait ten minutes, he will—" "No, no," repeated the old Jew, as though he wished to see the man, and were glad that he was not there. "Tell him that I came here to look for him and told him to come to my place tonight. No, let's say tomorrow. Since he is not here, tomorrow will be fine." "Okay," the man said, "Is there anything else?" "There's nothing to say right now." The old Jew said as he walked downstairs.

"I say," said the other man in a hoarse whisper, poking his head over the rail, "this is the time to do business. I got Phil Buck here, so drunk he could clean up a furry boy." he." "Aha! Now is not the time to deal with Phil Barker," said the old Jew, looking up. "Phil has some things to do before we part with him. Say hello to your guests, dear, tell They're having a good time - while they're still alive. Hahaha!" The boss chatted with the old man and went back to the customer.There was no one around, and Fagin immediately returned to his previous worried expression.He pondered for a while; he called a cab, and bade the driver drive to Bethler Meadow.He got out of the carriage a few hundred yards from Mr. Sykes's house, and walked the rest of the short distance on foot. "Hmph," murmured the old Jew, knocking on the door. "If there's any trick here, I'll find out from you too, my little girl, as clever as you want." The woman who answered the door said Nancy was in the room.Fagin crept up the stairs, and entered without a question.The girl was alone, lying on the table with disheveled hair. "She's drinking," thought the old Jew coldly. "Maybe there's something sad about it." Thinking like this, the old man turned and closed the door, which woke Nancy up suddenly.She looked closely at Fagin's shrewd face, asked if there was any news, and heard him recount what Toby Crackett had said.After the matter was finished, she didn't say a word, and lay down on the table like before, without saying a word.She pushed the candle aside impatiently, and once or twice she shifted nervously and scraped her feet on the ground, but that was about it. Taking advantage of the time when they had nothing to say, the old Jew looked around the room anxiously, as if to confirm that there was no sign that Sykes had sneaked back in the room.This round of inspection obviously satisfied him, he coughed three or two times, and tried every means to open up the conversation, but the girl ignored him at all, and only treated him as a stone man.Finally, he made another attempt, rubbed his hands together, and said in the most tactful tone: "You ought to wonder where Bill is now, don't you, dear?" The girl groaned and gave some half-understood reply that she couldn't quite figure out, and judging from the suppressed sound she was making, she looked like she was about to cry. "And that child," the old Jew stared at her expression with wide eyes. "Poor little baby. Throw it in the ditch, Nancy, think about it." "That boy," said Nancy, looking up suddenly, "is better anywhere than among us. As long as it doesn't implicate Bill, I'd like him to lie dead in the gutter with his tender bones rotting there." .” "Oh!" exclaimed the old Jew, startled. "Well, that's it," answered the girl, meeting his staring gaze. "If I never see him again, I'll be glad to know the worst is over. I can't stand him around. When I see him, I hate myself and all of you. .” "Pooh!" said the old Jew contemptuously, "you're drunk." "I'm drunk?" the girl cried sadly. "It's a pity I'm not drunk. It's not your fault. According to your mind, you wish I could be sober all my life, except now—how, you don't like this kind of temper." ?” "Yeah." The old Jew was furious, "I don't like it." "Then change my temper." The girl replied, then burst out laughing. "Change!" cried Fagin, for the unexpected obstinacy of his accomplice, coupled with the unfavorable things that happened that night, finally overwhelmed him. "I'm trying to change your temper. Listen, you old bitch. Listen to me, I only need a few words now to kill Sikes and put my hand around his neck. Just as sure. If he comes back, leave the kid behind--if he slips through and don't give the kid back to me, dead or alive--if you don't want him to run into Jack Cage If you don’t want to, kill him with your own hands. Do it as soon as he steps into this room, or you have to be careful of me, and there will be no time. " ①The executioner known for his cruelty in British history (1663?—1686).This refers to the executioner in general. "What did this say?" the girl couldn't help but exclaimed. "What?" went on Fagin, almost maddened, "that boy is worth hundreds of pounds to me, and with luck I can secure such a sum of money just for giving me a whistle." A drunk who can kill them is insane, and I lose what I deserve? Besides, I have a date with a born devil, and the guy lacks the heart, but he has the strength to go, go--"' The old man was out of breath, and he got stuck on one word when he said this. At this moment, he suddenly stopped venting his anger, and his whole appearance changed.His curled hands were still scratching in the air just now, his eyes were wide open, and his face was blue with anger, but now, he curled up in a chair, trembling all over, afraid that he would expose the treachery in his heart .He was silent for a while, and boldly turned his head to look at his companion, seeing that she was still as listless as when she woke up just now, and seemed somewhat relieved. "Nancy, my dear," said the old Jew, mournfully, in his usual tone, "you are all right, my dear?" "Don't bother me any more, Fagin," replied the girl, looking up slowly. "If Bill doesn't get his way this time, he'll do it again. He's done you a lot, and if he can, he'll do it again." You’ll get a lot more, and if you can’t do it, there’s nothing you can do, so don’t mention it.” "Where's the boy, dear?" the old Jew rubbed his palms nervously. "The boy's got to try his luck with somebody else," Nancy interrupted hastily. "I repeat, I'm going to let him die so that he can't be hurt again, and get out of your company—that is, If Bill is all right. Since Toby has slipped away; nothing will happen to Bill, and Bill will give him two Tobys." "What about what I said, my dear?" said the old Jew, looking at her with burning eyes. "If you want me to do something, you'll have to say it all over again," answered Nancy, "and if that's the case, you'd better do it to-morrow. You've been messing around a bit, and now I'm a little confused again." Fagin asked a few other questions, all bearing the same meaning, in an attempt to ascertain whether the girl had caught the hint he had just blurted out, but she answered them so simply that, in his He looked extremely indifferent under the gaze, his initial thought seemed to be correct, she drank two more glasses at worst.It is true that there was a general defect among the schoolgirls of the Old Jew, and Nancy was no exception, which in their younger years was more encouraged than discouraged.Her unkempt appearance and the strong smell of alcohol in the room provided strong evidence for the old Jew's speculation.At that time, she first had a fit of anger as described above, then she was immersed in depression, and then she showed mixed feelings and couldn't help herself. She was still crying just now, and in a blink of an eye she uttered all kinds of shouts, Such as "Don't say you're dead", and all kinds of speculations, saying that as long as the wives and gentlemen are happy, nothing matters.Mr. Fagin, having experience in such matters, was indescribably satisfied to see her come to this end. This discovery reassured Mr. Fagin.He had two purposes in his trip, one was to inform Nancy of the news he had heard that night, and the other was to verify with his own eyes that Sykes had not returned. Young accomplice, let her doze off on the table. It was already midnight.It was dark and bitterly cold, and he was in no mood for loitering.The cold wind blew across the street, as if it wanted to sweep away the few scattered pedestrians as dust and garbage. The pedestrians could see that they were hurrying home.However, it was a smooth sailing for the old Jew, who shivered every time the strong gust gave him a rough push. He had reached the corner of the street where he lived, and was fumbled for the gate key in his pocket, when a dark figure came out of a dark porch across the road and slipped by him without anyone noticing it. "Fagin," whispered a voice close to his ear. "Ah." The old Jew immediately turned his head and said. "You are--" "Yes." The stranger interrupted him. "I've been wandering around here for two hours, where the hell have you been?" "For your business, my dear," the old Jew cast a worried glance at his companion, and slowed down his pace while speaking. "It's all about you all night." "Oh, that goes without saying." The stranger said mockingly. "Okay, how's the situation?" "It's not good," said the old Jew. "It's not bad, I suppose?" The stranger stopped suddenly and looked at each other with a panicked look. The old Jew shook his head, and was just about to answer when the stranger told him to stop, when the two of them had already arrived at Fagin's door, and the stranger pointed to the door and said that it would be better to go in and talk if there was anything, while he stood nearby. After so long, suffering from the wind and cold, even the blood froze. Fagin looked distressed, as if he really wanted to shirk, because it was inconvenient for him to bring a stranger home in the middle of the night.Sure enough, Fagin muttered that there was no fire in the house, but his companion reiterated his request imperiously, and he had to open the door, ordering his companion to come in and close it softly, while he went to get a light. "It's as dark as a tomb here," the man groped forward a few steps. "faster." "Close the door," whispered Fagin from the end of the passage.Before the words were finished, the door slammed shut with a loud bang. "It's not my fault," said another, as he orientated himself. "The wind blew it, or it shut itself. Get the light here, or I'll bang my head in this damn hole." Fagin went down the kitchen stairs in the dark, and came up again holding a lighted candle after a short pause, and brought the news that Toby Crackit had fallen asleep in the inner room downstairs, and some boys were in the front room. , also fell asleep.He beckoned the stranger to follow, and led the way upstairs. "We can say what we want here, my dear," said the old Jew, opening a door on the second floor. "There are a few holes in the shutters, and we put the candles on the stairs, so we can never see the light next door, here." The old Jew muttered about stooping down and putting the candle on the upper flight of stairs, directly opposite the door behind a recliner or sofa without a seat cover, and nothing else could be moved. thing.The stranger sat down on the couch, looking exhausted.The old Jew pulled the armchair over, and the two sat facing each other.It wasn't too dark here, the door was ajar, and the candle outside cast a laser beam on the opposite wall. They talked for a while in low voices.Nothing of the conversation was intelligible, save for a few broken words here and there, and yet it was not difficult for the audience to hear that Fagin seemed to be defending himself against some of the words of his companion, who was rather agitated.They muttered like this for a quarter of an hour, perhaps a little longer, when Monks—the old Jew used that name several times in the course of the conversation to refer to strangers—raised his voice a little: "I'll tell you again, it's a terrible arrangement. Why don't you put him with a few others and train him to be a sneaky slug pickpocket?" "It's not that simple!" shouted the old Jew, shrugging his shoulders. "Oh, you mean you can't do it even if you have a way, don't you?" Meng Kesi asked with a straight face. "Haven't you been on other boys dozens of times? As long as you are patient, at most one year, you can let him give a sentence and send you out of England in a safe place, maybe you will never come back ,Yes or no?" "Who does it benefit from, my dear?" asked the old Jew humbly. "Me." Monks replied. "It's not me," the old Jew said in a very submissive manner. "He would have been of use to me. If there are two parties to a business, then there must be two interests, isn't it, my dear friend?" "So what?" Meng Kesi asked. "I found it hard to train him for the trade," replied the old Jew. "He's not like other boys in the same position." "To hell with him, it's different." The man muttered, "Otherwise, he would have been a thief long ago." "I can't find a way to make him go bad," the old Jew continued, looking anxiously at his companion's face. "He hasn't touched his hands yet, and I have nothing to frighten him, and at the beginning, we had something to do with each other, or it was a waste of time. What can I do? Send him out with Smart and Charlie? It's too much for us when we're out, my dear. I'm afraid for all of us." "It's none of my business," Meng Kesi said. "Yes, yes, dear." The old Jew reverted to his old ways. "I'm not arguing about it now. Because, if it never happened, you wouldn't notice him, and then you find out it's him you're looking for. Come on, girl, I'll get you He got it back, and she will spoil him in the future." "Strangle that girl," Meng Kesi said anxiously. "Well, we can't do that just now, my dear," replied the old Jew, smiling. "Besides, that kind of thing is not our job, or maybe one day, I will be eager to find someone to do it. I know the details of these chicks, Monks. Once the child gets down, her concern No more than a piece of wood. You want to make him a thief, and as long as he's alive, I'll make him do it from now on. If—if—" The old Jew leaned toward him— —"It's not very likely, you listen—but in case the worst happens and he dies—" "It's not my fault." The other stepped in, terrified, clasping Fagin's shoulders with trembling hands. "Listen, Fagin. I've had nothing to do with it. I told you from the beginning that anything will do, but don't let him die. I don't want to see blood. Sooner or later it will be revealed and disturbed. Man's haunted all the time. If they shoot him, it's not my fault. Do you hear that? Set fire to this place. What's that?" "What?" The old Jew also screamed, and stretched out his arms to hug the coward who jumped up in fright. "Where?" "Over there." Meng Kesi glanced at the opposite wall. "The figure. I saw the shadow of a woman, wrapped in a cloak and a bonnet, gliding past the paneling like a gust of wind." The old Jew let go of his arms, and the two hurried out of the house.The candle was still standing in its original place, but the draft had blown it into a mess, and the only thing the candlelight showed was the empty staircase and their pale faces.They listened attentively, and the whole house was enveloped in a dead silence. "That's your hallucination." The old Jew said as he picked up the candle from the ground and held it out in front of his companion. "I can swear, I can see clearly." Monks replied tremblingly. "The first time I saw it, the shadow was bending forward, and as soon as I opened my mouth, it ran away." The old Jew glanced contemptuously at his companion's livid face, said that he could follow him to see if he wanted to, and went upstairs.They looked from room to room, and the room was empty and surprisingly cold.They went down the hallway and then into the basement.The pale blue moisture hangs on the low wall, and the traces of snails and slugs glisten under the candlelight, but everything is deadly silent. "What do you think now?" said the old Jew as they went back into the corridor. "Not counting the two of us, there's no one in the house except Toby and those kids, and they're pretty safe. You see." The old Jew took two keys from his pocket as proof, and explained that he had locked the door the first time he came downstairs, so that the conversation would never be disturbed. Faced with this new piece of evidence, Mr. Monks hesitated.The two continued their fruitless search, his protest gradually became less passionate, and then he let out a few grinning laughs, admitting that it might just be his own imagination, but that night he tried again. He didn't want to change the topic and continue talking, because he suddenly remembered that it was past one o'clock, so the pair of close friends broke up.