فصل 13

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The end of the gang

The sun burst upon the crowded city in all its brightness. It lit up every corner of London, the great houses of the rich, and the miserable homes of the poor. It shone everywhere, even into the room where the murdered woman lay. The horror of that scene was even more dreadful in the clear morning light.

Sikes sat there, unable to move, looking at the body. He had thrown the blood-covered stick into the fire, then washed himself and his clothes. He had cut out the bits of his clothes that were stained and burnt them too, but there were still bloodstains all over the floor. Even the dog’s feet were bloody.

Finally, he forced himself to leave the room, pulling the dog out with him and locking the door behind him. He walked rapidly north, towards High gate, then on to Hampstead. On the open land of Hampstead Heath, away from people and houses, he found a place in a field where he could sleep without being disturbed.

But before long he was up again and running. This time he ran back towards London for a while. Then he turned and went north again, sometimes walking, sometimes running, with no clear purpose in his mind. Eventually, he felt hungry, and changed direction towards Hendon, a quiet place away from the crowds, where he could buy food. But even the children and chickens there seemed to look at him with suspicion. So he turned back towards Hampstead Heath again, without having eaten, uncertain where to go.

At last he turned north again, his dog still running at his heels, and set off to a village just outside London. He stopped at a small, quiet pub and bought a meal, then went on again. It was now dark and as he continued walking, he felt as if Nancy were following him, her shadow on the road, her last low cry in the wind. If he stopped, the ghostly figure did the same. If he ran, it ran too, moving stiffly, like a corpse. Sometimes he turned, determined to drive the ghost away, but his blood ran cold with terror. Every time he turned, the ghost turned too, and was still behind him.

Finally, he found another field where he could hide. He lay down, unable to sleep, his mind filled with visions of the dead girl. Her wide, dead eyes stared at him, watching him through a curtain of blood.

Suddenly he heard shouting in the distance. He jumped to his feet and saw that the sky seemed on fire. Sheets of flame shot into the air, driving clouds of smoke in his direction. He heard an alarm bell, and more shouts of ‘Fire!’ Running with his dog across the fields, he joined the crowds of men and women fighting the fire. He could forget his own terror in this new danger, and he worked all night with the crowd, shouting, running and working together to stop the flames destroying more buildings.

In the morning the mad excitement was over, and the dreadful memory of his crime returned - more terrifying than ever. In desperation, he decided to go back to London.

‘At least there’ll be somebody I can speak to,’ he thought to himself. ‘And it’s a better hiding-place than out here in the country. I’ll hide there for a week, get some money out of Fagin, then escape to France.’

Suddenly he remembered the dog - people would he looking for his dog as well as himself. He decided to drown the animal. But the dog smelt the man’s fear, and turned and ran away from him faster than it had ever run in its life.

‘You have a choice, Mr Monks,’ said Mr Brownlow. ‘You have been kidnapped and brought here to my house. You can either tell me what I want to know, or I’ll have you arrested, instantly, for fraud and robbery. It’s your choice. And you must decide now. At once.’

Monks hesitated and looked at the old man, but Mr Brownlow’s expression was so serious and determined that the younger man realized it was pointless to protest. ‘I didn’t expect this treatment from my father’s oldest friend,’ said Monks angrily, sitting down with a frown on his face.

‘Yes, I was your father’s oldest friend,’ said Mr Brownlow. ‘And I know all about you - how your father, while still a boy, was forced by his family into an unhappy marriage with an older woman, and how you were the result of that marriage. I also know that your parents separated, hating each other by the end.’

‘Well - what’s so important about that?’

‘When they’d been separated for ten years,’ said Mr Brownlow, ‘your father met another family. There were two daughters, one nineteen years old and the other only two or three. Your father became engaged to the older daughter. At this point one of his rich relations died and left him a lot of money in his will. Your father had to travel to Italy to receive his inheritance, and while there, he became ill and died. Your mother, who was living with you in Paris, immediately rushed to Italy when she heard the news. As your father had made no will of his own, all the relation’s money came to you and her.’

Monks listened with close attention, biting his lip and staring at the floor.

‘Before your father went to receive that money, he came to see me,’ continued Mr Brownlow slowly, his eyes fixed on Monks’ face.

‘I never heard that before,’ said Monks, looking up suddenly, a suspicious expression on his face.

‘He left me a picture of the poor girl he wanted to marry. He talked wildly about shame and guilt, and how he would give part of the money he’d inherited to his wife and to you, and use the rest to escape from England with the girl he loved. He refused to tell me any more details.’

Monks breathed more easily, and even smiled.

‘But,’ said Mr Brownlow, pulling his chair nearer to the other man, ‘by chance I was able to rescue your brother Oliver from a life of misery and-‘

‘What!’ cried Monks.

Mr Brownlow continued without a pause. ‘And when he was recovering from his sickness here in my house, I noticed how similar he looked to the girl’s face in the picture. But he was taken away before I could discover his history - as you know very well.’

‘You can’t prove anything!’ said Monks.

‘I can. I heard that you were in the West Indies. I went there to try and find you to see if you knew anything about Oliver, but you’d already left. I returned to London, and was unable to find you until two hours ago.’

‘And now what? You can’t prove that Oliver’s my brother.’ Monks smiled unpleasantly.

‘I couldn’t before,’ said Mr Brownlow, standing up. ‘But now I can. There was a will, but your mother destroyed it. This will mentioned a child that would be born later; this was Oliver, the child you met later by accident. You noticed his resemblance to your father and you became suspicious. You then went back to his birthplace, found proof of his birth and the fact that he’s your half- brother, and destroyed that proof.’

Monks sat in silence, his eyes filled with fear.

‘Yes,’ continued Mr Brownlow fiercely, ‘shadows on the wall have caught your whispers with Fagin, and brought them to my ear. For the sake of that innocent child, whom you wanted to destroy. And now murder has been done, and you are as guilty of that as if you had struck the blow yourself!’

‘No, no,’ said Monks quickly. ‘I knew nothing of that. Nothing at all. He was silent for a while, realizing how much was known about him. Hatred and tear fought inside him, but he was a coward at heart. At last, seeing no escape, he raised his head. ‘I will admit everything - in front of witnesses, it necessary.’

Mr Brownlow nodded coldly. ‘I will prepare a document for you to sign. You must give Oliver what is really his, and then you can go where you please.’

At that moment Dr Losberne rushed into the room. ‘The murderer will be taken tonight! His dog’s been found.’

‘And Fagin?’ asked Mr Brownlow.

‘They’re sure of him. They may have him already.’

Mr Brownlow turned back to Monks. ‘Have you made up your mind?’

‘Yes,’ replied Monks. ‘And you promise - it’ll remain a secret? No police, or charges of fraud against me?’

‘Yes,’ said Mr Brownlow. ‘You have my promise. For now, you must remain here, locked in this room. I will come for you tomorrow evening and take you to sign a confession in front of witnesses.’

Mr Brownlow then left the room with the doctor, and they eagerly discussed the news of the hunt for the criminals. ‘My blood boil’s with anger,’ said Mr Brownlow. ‘This poor murdered girl must be revenged. You stay here and guard Monks. I’ll go out and get the latest news.’

The two men parted, each in a fever of excitement.

Down by the river Thames was a district called Rotherhithe, one of the dirtiest and roughest places in London. The houses next to the river had no owners; they were broken down and ruined, bur could be defended against attack. In an upper room of one of these houses, were three members of Fagin’s gang.

‘When was Fagin taken, then?’ asked the man called Toby.

‘Two o’clock this afternoon. Charley and I escaped up the chimney, but Noah was caught. Bet went to see Nancy and when she saw the body, she started screaming and wouldn’t stop. She’s been taken to hospital.’

‘What’s happened to Charley Bates?’

‘He’ll come here when it’s dark. It’s too dangerous now.’

‘We’re in trouble,’ said Toby. ‘Fagin’s going to hang - that’s certain.’

‘You should have seen him when he was caught,’ said another robber. ‘The police carried him through the crowd while all the people jumped at him, screaming and trying to attack him.’

Suddenly Sikes’ dog ran into the room. All the robbers rushed out immediately to look for Sikes, but there was no sign of him. They returned to the upstairs room.

‘I hope he’s not coming here,’ said Toby.

‘The dog’s come a long way,’ said another man. ‘Covered in mud, and tired out.’

They sat there in silence, wondering where Sikes was. It was already dark when they heard a sudden, hurried knock at the door downstairs.

Toby went to the window to look down, then pulled his head back in, his face pale with fear. There was no need to tell the others who it was.

‘We must let him in,’ said Toby, although none of them wanted to see him. Toby went down to the door and returned, followed by Sikes. White-faced, with a three-day-old beard, hollow cheeks and staring eyes, Sikes looked like a ghost. No one said a word.

‘Nothing to say to me?’ Sikes asked.

The only answer was a low shout of many voices from outside in the distance, coming closer. Lights appeared. Looking out, Sikes saw a stream of people crossing the bridge towards them. Then there was a loud knocking on the door and more shouts from the crowd.

‘The doors are made of metal and they’re locked and chained,’ said Toby. The three robbers watched Sikes nervously, as if he were a wild animal.

‘Bring a ladder!’ shouted some of the crowd below.

‘Give me a rope, quick,’ Sikes said to the others, ‘I’ll go the other way, climb down the back and escape over the river. Get me a rope - now! Or I’ll do three more murders!’

A minute later, Sikes appeared on the roof and the shouts from the crowd below swelled to a great roar. Then the front door was smashed down and people streamed into the house. Sikes quickly tied the rope around the chimney, then began to tie the other end around himself, ready to lower himself to the ground behind the house. But just as he put the rope over his head, he screamed in terror and threw his arms above his head. He staggered back, slipped and fell over the edge of the roof. As he fell, the rope tightened around his neck with a horrible jerk. In a second the murderer was dead, and there he hung, his body swinging gently from side to side. The dog, which had followed its master onto the roof, jumped down towards the lifeless body, missed, and fell dead on the stones below.