Chapter 51 Chapter 50

(Chasing and fleeing.) Rothershuis Church is on one side of the Thames. The buildings on both sides are very dirty due to the dust from the colliers and the smoke from the densely packed low houses, and the boats on the river are also dark.In London, where there are so many unknown districts, there still exists one of the dirtiest, strangest, most unusual districts, the name of which most Londoners cannot even name. To get to this place, visitors must pass through a large dense, narrow, and muddy street. The people who live here are the lowest and poorest families on the water, and it is not difficult to imagine how they make a living.Stores are stocked with the cheapest and worst quality food.The worst and cheapest clothing hangs in front of businesses, and flutters in the wind on the railings and windows of houses.Everywhere is the lowest rank of unemployed, ballast porters, collier stevedores, rambunctious women, children in rags, and the scum of the riverside, and you squeeze your way through the midst Walk.Numerous alleys branched left and right, and disgusting sights and smells kept pouring out of the alleys.Clumsy carriages laden with piles of goods rattled out of the warehouses and warehouses scattered around every corner, so that nothing could be heard.It’s hard to come to a street that is more remote than the previous one, and there are not so many pedestrians. The arcade protruding above the sidewalk is crumbling, and the broken walls seem to fall down when you pass by. It seems that half of the chimney has collapsed, and the other half is also hesitating. The iron bars guarding the windows are old, rusty, stained, and almost rotten—all signs of decay and dilapidation are here.

Jacob's Island is located in this area, just a little further from the Southwark Town Pier.The stinking ditch around Jacob's Island, six to eight feet deep and fifteen to twenty feet wide at high tide, used to be called Mill Pond, but people have known it for years as Foolish Ditch.This is a port or inlet branched from the Thames River. As long as the sluice of Lied Mill is opened at high tide, the water can be filled. That is how the old name of the ditch comes from.When the gates are opened, as long as outsiders stand on the wooden bridges across the ditches in Mill Lane, they will see the residents on both sides of the bank open the back doors, windows, put buckets, pails, and various household utensils Put it down to fetch water.As you turn your gaze from the drawing of water to the house itself, you will be amazed at what you see.Five or six houses shared a rickety plank corridor behind the house, through the holes in the plank you could see the mud below.The windows were broken, some repaired, and a clothes-line sticked out of the window, but there was never any clothes hanging on it.The room was small and dirty, the interior was airtight and full of stench, and it seemed too unhygienic to even hide the dirt.The wooden houses hung over the muddy water, as if they were about to fall--some of them had already fallen.The filth of the walls, the daily decay of the foundations, the appalling poverty, the disgusting dirt, rot, and rubbish--all this adorns the banks of the Absurd Ditch.

The warehouse on Jacob's Island was empty, without even a roof, the walls were crumbling, the windows were no longer windows, the doors were down on the street, the chimneys were black but never smoked.Thirty or forty years ago, before the downturn and the tug-of-war of legal proceedings, the market here was quite prosperous, but now, it has indeed become an isolated island.If there is no owner in the house, the bold will break down the door and take it for himself.They live here, they die here.These people must have their own serious reasons for seeking a secret residence, or they are really desperate, otherwise they don't need to seek refuge on Jacob's Island.

One of these houses was a rather large solitary building, otherwise dilapidated except for the doors and windows, which were well guarded.The back of the house is on the verge of a ditch, and the situation is just as described above—in a room on the second floor, three people gather together. Sitting in silence for a while.Of the three, one was Toby Crackett, the other was Mr. Kittling, and the third was about fifty years of age, also a thief, whose nose had been nearly smashed in an earlier brawl. Now, with a hideous scar on his face, perhaps dating from the same occasion.This man was an exile who had escaped from overseas, and his name was Keggs.

"My good man," said Toby, turning his face to Mr. Kittling, "since those two old dens can't stay, you'd better find another place to shelter from the wind, and you shouldn't come here." "Damn, why don't you?" Keggs said too. "Well, I thought you'd be happier to see me than this," replied Mr. Kittling, despondently. "You, young gentleman," said Toby, "a man who is as lonely as I am, gets a comfortable house to settle in, and nobody around to ask and smell. , it is a shame to have the honor of seeing a young gentleman in your situation (though your Excellency may be a respectable and agreeable card-mate at your convenience)."

"In particular, there is a friend living in the home of this lonely young man. This friend came back from abroad earlier than expected, but he is very humble and unwilling to report to the judge." Kegels added. After a brief silence, Toby Crackett seemed to be desperate to maintain his usual stinking airs, and he stopped working hard, turned to Kittling and said: "When was Fokin arrested?" "It was lunchtime—two o'clock this afternoon. Charlie and I slipped down the laundry chimney, and Poulter fell headlong into the big empty bucket, but his legs were too long for him to stand upright." On top of the bucket, they grabbed him again."

"Where's Bet?" "Poor Bette. She ran to see the body, and said she was going to say goodbye," replied Kittling, with a face drawn longer and longer, "and went crazy, screaming and talking Bullshit, banging her head against the wall, they had to put her in a straitjacket and take her to the hospital - where she is now." "How's little Bates?" asked Keggs. "Walking around, won't come here before dark, but he'll be here soon," replied Kittning, "there's nowhere else to go right now, everyone at the Cripple's is in custody, the bar It was a den—I ran there and saw it—full of spies.”

"It's a sweep," Toby said, biting his lip. "It wasn't just one person who got in." "It's trial time now," said Keggs, "and as soon as the preliminaries are over and Poulter confesses to Fagin -- which, from what he's said, he's sure to do -- they can conclude that Fagin was an accomplice, Trial starts on Friday, and he's going to be on the swing in six days from today, and I'm—" "You must have heard that people yell like hell," said Kittling. "He would have been torn to pieces if the police hadn't given their lives to chase him down. He fell once, but the police were all around him." He made a circle and rushed out. You didn't see him looking around, covered in mud and bleeding from his face, clung to the policeman as if the policeman was his closest friend. I can see it now , the crowd pushed forward desperately, and they couldn't stand it anymore, so they dragged him away among their own people. I could see people jumping up one by one, gnashing their teeth, screaming, and rushing towards him. I saw I could see the blood in his hair and beard, I could hear the women clamoring into the crowd on the corner, vowing to tear his heart out."

The terrified witness at the scene covered his ears, stood up with his eyes closed, and walked around frantically, as if insane. While he made these gestures, the other two sat silently, staring at the floor, when there was a clattering sound on the stairs, and Sikes' dog scuttled into the house.They ran to the window, down the stairs, and out into the street.The dog, which jumped in through an open window, did not follow the three people and its owner did not appear. "What does that mean?" said Toby when the three were back again. "He won't come here. I—I—hope not."

"If he'd come up here, he'd have the dog with him," said Keggs, bending down to inspect the panting animal lying on the floor. "Hey. Let's give him some water to drink, and see him running out of breath." "He drank all the water, not a drop remained," said Kitning, who stared at the dog in silence for a while. "Muddy - limped - eyes can't keep open - must have walked a long way." "Where did he come from!" cried Toby, "he must have been in some other den, and found it full of strangers who came here, and he has been to this place many times, and often. But where did it come from in the first place? Without that person, how could it have come all the way?"

"He—" (none of the three mentioned the killer's name)—"he's not going to kill himself, don't you think?" said Kittling. Toby shook his head. "If he's dead, the dogs will certainly lead us to the place where he killed himself," said Keggs. "No. He's probably escaped from England and left the dogs behind. He must have played some trick to get No dog would not be so honest." This explanation seems to be the most likely, so everyone agrees.The dog crawled under a chair, curled up and slept, and no one bothered about it. By this time it was dark and the shutters were closed, and they lit a candle and put it on the table.The terrible incidents that happened in the past two days were deeply imprinted on the hearts of the three of them. In addition, they were in danger and their future was uncertain, so they felt even more nervous.They shifted their chairs and leaned close to each other, shuddering at every sound.They seldom spoke, and when they did, they whispered in whispers, and they looked so silent, as if the body of the murdered woman was parked in the next room. For a while, they sat like this, and suddenly, there was a hasty knock on the door downstairs. "Little Bates," Keggs said, looking back furiously to suppress his fear. There was another knock on the door.No, it's not him.He never knocked like this. Crackit went to the window and put his head out, trembling.There was no need to tell them who it was, his pale face was enough.In the blink of an eye, the dog also became alert, whining and ran towards Menri. "We still have to let him in," said Crackit, holding up the candle. "Can't think of any other way?" Another man asked hoarsely. "There is no way but to let him in." "Don't leave us in a dark room," said Keggs, taking a candle from the mantelpiece, and by the time he lit it with trembling hands, the door knocked twice more. Crackit went downstairs to open the door, and came back with a man who had one handkerchief wrapped around the lower half of his face and another around his hatted head.Slowly he took off the towel.The pale face, the sunken eyes, the sunken cheeks, the beard three days old, the gaunt figure, the shortness of breath: this was the very ghost of Sikes. He stretched out his hand to support a chair in the middle of the room, and was about to sit down, when suddenly he shivered, and as if he wanted to look back, he dragged the chair to a place close to the wall—it couldn’t be any closer It's getting closer - leaning against the wall and sitting down. No one said a word.Without saying a word, he looked at them one by one.Even if someone's eyes secretly raised up and met his, they immediately turned aside.They were startled when he broke the silence, as if they had never heard his voice before. "How did the dog get here?" he asked. "I came here by myself, and I've been here for three hours." "The evening papers say Fagin has been arrested. Is it true or is it a lie?" "real." They fell silent again. "To hell with it all," said Sikes, mopping his brow with his hand. "You have nothing to tell me?" The three of them moved nervously, but no one spoke. "This house is yours," said Sikes, turning his eyes to Crackit. "Are you going to sell me, or let me live here till this raid is over?" " "You can stay, if you think it's safe." The person who was asked hesitated a little and replied. Sikes raised his eyes slowly, and looked at the wall behind him, mostly to try, not really, to turn his head away.He went on: "The body—the body—is the body buried?" The three shook their heads. "Why haven't they been buried yet?" He blurted out, and looked behind him again as before. "What are you doing leaving such an ugly thing on the ground?—who's knocking?" Crackit signaled that there was nothing to be afraid of, and then left the room, and then led Charlie Bates back.Sikes was sitting opposite the door, and the boy saw him head on as soon as he entered the room. Sykes turned his eyes to him, and the boy stepped back and said, "Toby, why didn't you tell me you were downstairs?" Those three people were frightened out of their wits, and it was really frightening to watch. The villain couldn't help but want to please the young man who had just entered the door, so he nodded and pretended to shake hands with him. "Let me go to another room." The boy kept stepping back and said. "Charlie," said Sikes, walking forward. "Don't you—you don't know me?" "Don't come near me again," the boy replied, still backing away, staring at the murderer's face with fear in his eyes. "You scoundrel." The man stopped after taking two steps, and stared at each other. As a result, Sikes' eyes gradually drooped. "You three testify," the boy said loudly, waving his clenched fists.The conversation became more and more excited. "You three testify—I'm not afraid of him—and if they come here for him, I'll hand him over, and I'll denounce you right away. He'll kill me for it, if he likes, Or I have the guts, but as long as I am here, I will hand him over. Even if I put him alive in the pot, I will hand him over. Killing! Help! If any of you three If you have the guts, please help me. Kill him! Help! Catch him!" The young man yelled and made violent gestures, and he really threw himself on the big man. With his strength and surprise, he knocked him to the ground. The three bystanders were stunned, and no one intervened. The boy and the man rolled into a ball on the ground.The young man ignored the fists raining down on him, and pulled the clothes on the murderer's chest tighter and tighter with both hands, and kept calling for help with all his strength. However, after all, the strength of the two sides is very different, and this contest will soon be resolved.Sikes threw the boy to the ground and pressed his knee on his neck, when Crackit yanked him with a look of panic and pointed to the window.The fire below was flickering, people were talking loudly and passionately, and there was a sound of hurried footsteps—there seemed to be a lot of people—coming from the nearest wooden bridge.There seemed to be a man on a horse in the crowd, and there was a clatter of hooves on the uneven gravel road.There are more and more lights, and the footsteps are getting denser and louder.Immediately afterwards, there was a loud knock at the door, and countless angry voices merged into a clamor that would shake even the most daring. "Help!" the boy screamed, his voice piercing the night sky. "He's here. Break the door open!" "We are here by the king's order to arrest the murderer!" Someone shouted outside.The drum noise started again, and louder. "Break the door!" the boy screamed. "I tell you, they will never open the door. Go straight to the bright house. Break the door!" No sooner had he stopped than there was a rapid and heavy banging on the door and on the downstairs window panels, and a loud cheer erupted from the crowd, and for the first time those who heard the sound had a fairly accurate estimate of how loud it was. concept. "Go somewhere and open the door so I can lock up this squealing brat," cried Sikes murderously, dragging the boy around as effortlessly as if he were an empty Like a pocket. "That's the door, quick!" He threw the boy in, put the latch on, and turned the key. "Is the door downstairs solid?" "Double insurance, and a chain outside." Crackit replied, he and the other two were still helpless and at a loss. "Where's the wainscoting—sturdy? "Wrapped in iron." "The windows too?" "Yes, and windows too." "Damn you," said the rascal, throwing up the pane and yelling at the crowd viciously, "whatever you want. I'll play you again." Of all the terrible shouts that reached human ears, there was none like the roar of an enraged crowd.Someone yelled for the nearest to set fire to the house, while others yelled for the police to shoot him.Among all the people, the man on the horse was especially furious. He flew off the saddle, pushed through the crowd like parting the water, squeezed under the window, and shouted loudly, his voice drowning out all the clamor. "Twenty guineas to anyone who fetches a ladder." The nearest voices took up the call, and a hundred voices echoed it.Some called to move the ladder, some called to bring the sledgehammer, and some ran around holding the torch, as if looking for these things, but came back as they were, and roared again.Someone vented their anger by swearing to no avail, and someone pushed forward like a lunatic, which hindered the progress of those downstairs.A few of the most daring ones tried to use downspouts and cracks in the walls to climb up.The crowd was rolling in the darkness, like a field of wheat rolling under the howling wind, and from time to time they made an angry clamor in unison. "Tide," cried the murderer, closing the windows, shutting the faces out, and staggering back into the house. "The tide was rising when I came up. Give me a rope, a little longer. They're all in front of the house, and I can jump into the absurd ditch and get out of there. Give me a rope, or I'll add another Three lives, and then kill myself." Three terrified men pointed to the place where such things were kept.The murderer hastily selected the longest and strongest rope.Hastily climbed to the roof. All the windows at the back of the house had been bricked long ago, except for a small trap in the room off of Charlie Bates, but it was so small he couldn't get through.However, it was from this exit that Baze yelled to the people outside one after another, asking them to move to the back of the house.For this reason, when the murderer somehow came out of the door on the attic and appeared on the roof, a high-pitched cry informed the people in front of the house of the fact, and the crowd rushed forward , converging into a galloping torrent. The murderer held the door firmly against the door with a specially brought board, making it difficult to open from the inside. He climbed over the tiles and looked down through the low parapet. The tide receded, and Haogou became a swamp. For a few moments the crowd fell silent, watching his movements, wondering what he was about to do, but as soon as they realized that his plan had failed, there was a great wave of triumphant cheers and curses, and at the same time The previous shouts were only whispers in comparison.The sound waves come and go.Some people who were too far away couldn't understand the meaning, and they also roared.Immediately, the curses were everywhere, and the echoes were endless, as if the citizens of London had mobilized the city to curse the murderer. The people in front of the house came closer—closer, a raging torrent of angry faces, and here and there bright torches led the way, illuminating their rage.Crowds rushed into houses on the other side of the ditch, pushing up window frames or smashing them down.Every window day is crowded with many faces.Crowds of people stood on the roofs of every house.Small bridges (there were three in sight) buckled under the weight of the crowd.The flow of people is still coming, they all want to find a corner or a gap to shout, just to take a look at the villain. "Catch him now," cried a man from the nearest bridge. "That's great." People took off their hats one after another, waved them in their hands, and the shouts rose into the air again. "I'll give fifty pounds to any man who catches a murderer alive," cried an old gentleman from the same place, "and I'll stay here to wait for his reward." There was another round of cheers.At this moment, a message spread among the crowd: the gate finally broke open, and the person who had just called to move the ladder rushed upstairs.The news spread one by one, and the crowd suddenly turned.The people standing at the window saw the people on the bridge swarming back, and rushed to the street to join the crowd that was rushing back to the original place: one by one pushed and fucked, scrambling to be the first, everyone was anxious to get to the door, So that the police can take a closer look when they escort the prisoner out.Some were almost suffocated, and some fell to the ground and were trampled in the confusion. The long and short screams were terrible.The narrow road is completely blocked.Some rushed here and there to return to the open space in front of the house, others struggled in vain to squeeze out of the crowd, and at this moment the attention that had been concentrated on the murderer was distracted, although people wanted to see him. The eagerness to catch him only increased. The man shrank into a ball and squatted down.The crowd was fierce, and he was helpless, so he was completely overwhelmed.However, his quick reaction was no less than the sudden change. As soon as he saw that people's attention had suddenly shifted, he jumped up and decided to make a last-ditch effort to save his life, which was to jump into the ditch. Take advantage of the darkness and chaos to sneak away, at the risk of being wiped out. He immediately cheered up, and the noise in the house showed that someone had indeed rushed in.He must act. .He put one foot on the chimney and wound the end of the rope tightly around it.Almost in the blink of an eye, he has already used his hands and teeth to pull the other end into a strong looper. He can use the rope to hang down to a place no higher than his own height above the ground, and then cut the rope with the knife in his hand. fall down. He had just put the slipknot on his head, and was about to strangle it under his arm, when the old gentleman mentioned above (who was clinging to the bridge railing so as to hold his place against the pressure of the crowd) was eager to warn those around him. People, the murderer is about to fall—at this very moment, the murderer suddenly looked back at the roof behind him, raised his arms above his head, and let out a terrifying cry. "There are those eyes again!" he screamed, like a ghost crying and wolf howling. He staggered as if struck by lightning, then lost his balance and fell over the parapet.The looper was tied around his neck, and the rope was pulled by the weight of his body, as tight as a bowstring, and as fast as an arrow leaving the string.He fell some thirty-five feet and stopped suddenly with a horrific twitch of limbs.He hung there, holding the open jackknife in his growing stiff hand. The old chimney was shaken a few times, but it bravely endured.The murderer was swinging back and forth against the wall, already lifeless.Charlie pushed the dangling corpse aside from his view, begging for God's sake to come and get him out. A dog, which had not been seen until now, wailed and ran up and down the parapet.It collected itself and jumped towards the dead man's shoulder.It didn't reach its goal, fell into a ditch, turned somersault in mid-air, hit a rock head-on, and burst its brains out.