the arrangement come to between todd and his visitor seemed to give equal satisfaction to both, and mr. peter, if he had what the phrenologists call an organ of caution at all developed, must have had acquisitiveness so large as completely to overpower its action at the present time. the idea of getting from todd's fears a sum of money at once, and from fogg's fears a regular small annuity, was to him a most felicitous combination of circumstances, and his reflections upon the pleasant consequences resulting therefrom had such full possession of him, that his scruples vanished, and as he followed todd into the back parlour from the shop, he muttered to himself—

"i'll try and get enough out of him to open a public-house."

todd heard the wish, and turning quickly with what he intended should be an engaging smile, he said—

"and why not, peter—and why not? nothing would give me more sincere gratification than seeing you in a public-house, for although a man may be a publican, he need not be a sinner, you know."

"eh?"

"i say he need not be a sinner; and there would be nothing in the world, peter, to prevent you from having prayers night and morning, and i am sure i should be most happy to come now and then, if it were only to say 'amen!'"

"humph!" said peter. "you are too good, you are. much too good, really."

"not at all, peter. let us be as good as we may, we cannot be too good. human nature is a strange compound, you know, mixed up of several things opposite to each other, like a lather in a shaving dish."

with this sentiment todd held open the door of the sanctum behind his shop, and by a cautious wave of his hand invited mr. peter to enter. that gentleman did so.

"now," said todd, in quite a confidential tone, "what is your peculiar affection in the—"

here mr. todd went through the pantomimic action of draining a glass. peter laughed, and then shaking his head waggishly, he said—

"what a rum 'un you are! fogg had his funny ways, but i do think you beat him, that you do. well, if i must say i have a partiality, it's to brandy. do you know, i think, between you and me and the post, that a drop of good brandy is rather one of them things that makes human nature what it is."

"what a just remark," said todd.

peter looked as sage as possible. he was getting upon wonderfully good terms with his own sagacity—a certain sign that he was losing his ordinary discretion. todd opened a small cupboard in the wall—what a number of small cupboards in the wall todd had—and produced a long-necked bottle and a couple of glasses. he held the bottle up to the dim light, saying—

"that's the thing, rather."

"it looks like it," said peter.

"and it is," said todd, "what it looks. this bottle and the liquor within it have basked in the sun of a fairer clime than ours, peter, and the laughing glades of the sweet south have capped it in beauty."

peter looked puzzled.

"what a learned man you are, mr. t.," he said. "you seem to know something of everything, and i dare say the brandy is to the full as good as it looks."

this was decidedly a quiet sort of hint to decant some of it without further loss of time, and todd at once complied. he filled peter's glass to the brim, and his own more moderately; and as the golden liquor came out with a pleasant bubble from the bottle, peter's eyes glistened, and he sniffed up the aroma of that pure champaign brandy with the utmost complaisance.

"beautiful! beautiful!" he exclaimed.

"pretty well," said todd.

"pretty well? it's glorious!"

mr. peter raised the glass to his lips, and giving a nod to todd over the rim of it, he said—

"i looks towards you."

todd nodded, and then, in another moment peter put down his empty glass.

"out and out!" he gasped. "out and out! ah, that is the stuff."

todd tossed off the glass, with the toast of "a long life, and a merry one!" which was duly acknowledged by peter, who replied—

"the same to you, mr. t., and lots of 'em."

"it's like milk," said todd, as he filled peter's glass again. "it's for all the world like milk, and never can do any one any harm."

"no—no. enough. there—stop."

todd did stop, when the glass was within a hair's breadth of running over, but not before; and then again he helped himself, and when he set the bottle upon the table, he said—

"a biscuit?"

"not for me. no."

"nay. you will find it pleasant with the brandy. i have one or two here. rather hard, perhaps, but good."

"well, i will, then. i was afraid you would have to go out for them, that was all, mr. t., and i wouldn't give you any trouble for the world. i only hope we shall often meet in this quiet comfortable way, mr. t. i always did respect you, for, as i often said to fogg, of all the customers that come here, mr. todd for me. he takes things in an easy way, and if he is a thundering rogue, he is at all events a clever one."

"how kind!"

"no offence, i hope, mr. todd?"

"offence, my dear fellow? oh, dear me! how could you think of such a thing? offence, indeed! you cannot possibly offend me!"

"i'm rejoiced to hear you say so, mr. t., i am really; and this is—this is—the—very best—ah—brandy that ever i—where are you going, mr. t.?"

"only to get the biscuits. they are in the cupboard behind you; but don't stir, i beg. you are not at all in the way."

"are you sure?"

"quite."

todd stepped easily between peter's chair and the wall, and opening another of the mysterious small cupboards, he laid his hand upon a hammer, with a long handle, that was upon the shelf.

"if this," said peter, "was the last word i had to say in the world, i would swear to the goodness of the brandy."

as he uttered the words he turned his head sharply, and faced todd. the hammer was upraised, and would, if he had not so turned, have descended with fatal effect upon the top of his head. as it was, peter had only time to utter one shriek, when down it came upon the lower part of his face. the crush was hideous. the lower jaw fell crushed and mangled, and, with a frightful oath, todd again raised the hammer: but the victim closed with him, and face to face they grappled. the hammer was useless, and todd cast it from him as he felt that he required all his strength to grapple with the man who, at that moment, fastened on him with the strength of madness. over chair—over the table, to the destruction of all that was on it, they went, coiled up in each other's embrace—dashing here and there with a vehemence that threatened destruction to them both, and yet not a word spoken. the frightful injury that peter had received effectually prevented him from articulating, and todd had nothing to say. down! down they both come; but todd is uppermost. yes; he has got his victim upon the floor, and his knee is upon his chest! he drags him a few inches further towards the fire-place—inches were sufficient, and then grappling him by the throat, he lifts his head and dashes it against the sharp edge of an iron fender! crash!—crash!—crash! the man is dead! crash again! that last crash was only an injury to a corpse! once more todd raised the now lax and smashed skull, but he let it go again. it fell with a heavy blow upon the floor!

"that will do," said todd.

sweeney todd butchers the turnkey.

sweeney todd butchers the turnkey.

he slowly rose, and left his cravat in the hands of the dead man. he shook himself, and again that awful oath, which cannot be transcribed, came from his lips. rap! rap! rap! todd listened. what's that? somebody in the shop? yes, it must be—or some one wanting to come in, rather, for he had taken the precaution to make the outer door fast. rap! rap! rap!

"i must go," said todd. "stop.—let me see."

he snatched a glass from the wall, and looked at himself. there was blood upon his face. with his hand, he hastily wiped it off, and then, walking as composedly as he could into the shop, he opened the door. a man stood upon the threshold with quite a smile upon his face, as he said—

"busy, i suppose?"

"yes, sir," said todd. "i was just finishing off a gentleman. shaved or dressed, sir?"

"shaved, if you please. but don't let me hurry you, by any means. i can wait a little."

"thank you, sir, if you will oblige me for a moment or two. you will find some amusements, sir, from the evening courant, i dare say."

as he spoke, he handed the then popular newspaper to his customer, and left him. todd took good care to close the door leading into the parlour, and then proceeding up to the body of the murdered peter, he, with his foot, turned it over and over, until it was under the table, where it was most completely hidden by a cover that hung down to within an inch of the floor. before todd had got this operation well completed, he heard his shop door open. that door creaked most villanously; by so doing, while he was otherwise engaged, he could always hear if it was opened or attempted to be opened. todd was in the shop in a moment, and saw a respectable-looking personage, dressed in rather clerical costume, who said—

"you keep powder?"

"certainly, sir."

"then i wish my hair powdered; but do not let me interrupt this gentleman. i can wait."

"perhaps, sir, if you could make it convenient to look in again," said todd, "you will probably be more amused by looking at the shops, than by waiting here while this gentleman is shaved."

"thank you, you are very kind; but i am rather tired, and glad of the opportunity of having a rest."

"certainly, sir. as you please. the courant, sir, at your service."

"thank you—thank you."

the clerical looking old gentleman sat down to read the courant, while todd commenced the operation of shaving his first customer. when that operation was half completed, he said—

"they report, sir, that st. dunstan's is giving way."

"giving way," said the clerical looking gentleman. "how do you mean about giving way?"

"why, sir," said todd, with an air quite of reverential respect, "they say that the old church has a leaning towards temple bar, and that, if you stand at the opposite side of the way, you may just see it. i can't, but they do say so."

"bless me," said the clerical looking gentleman. "that is a very sad thing indeed, and nobody can be more sorry than i am to hear such a tale of the old church."

"well sir, it may not be true."

"i hope not, indeed. nothing would give me greater pain than to be assured it was true. the stench in the body of the church that so much has been said about in the parish is nothing to what you say, for who ought to put his nose into competition with his eternal welfare?"

"who, indeed, sir! what is your opinion of that alarming stench in old st. dunstan's?"

"i am quite at a loss to make it out."

"and so am i, sir—so am i. but begging your pardon, sir, if i am not making too free, i thought as you were probably a clergyman, sir, you might have heard something more about it than we common folks."

"no—no. not a word. but what you say of the church having a leaning to temple bar is grievous."

"well, sir, if you were to go and look, you might find out that it was no such thing, and by the time you return i shall have completely finished off this gentleman."

"no—no. i make no sort of doubt in the world but that you would by that time have finished off the gentleman, but as for my going to look at the old church with any idea that it had a leaning to anything but itself, i can only say that my feelings as a man and a member of the glorious establishment will not permit me."

"but, my dear sir, you might satisfy yourself that such was really not the case."

"no—no. imagination would make me think that the church had a leaning in all sorts of directions, until at last fancy might cheat me into a belief that it actually tottered."

the clerical-looking gentleman pronounced these words with so much feeling, that the person who was being shaved nearly got cut by twisting his head round in order to see him.

"true, sir," said todd. "very true—very true indeed, and very just; imagination does indeed play strange freaks with us at times, i well know."

the horrible face that todd made as he spoke ought to have opened the eyes of any one to the fact that he was saying anything but what he thought, but no one saw it. when he pleased, todd generally took care to keep his faces to himself.

"i don't wonder, rev. sir," he said, "that your feelings prompt you to say what you do. i'm afraid i have taken off a little too much whisker, sir."

"oh, never mind. it will grow again," said the person who was being shaved.

todd suddenly struck his own head with the flat of his hand, as a man will do to whose mind some sudden thought has made itself apparent, and in a voice of doubt and some alarm, he pronounced the one word—

"powder!"

"what's the matter? you are a long time shaving me."

"powder!" said todd again.

"gunpowder," said the three-quarter shaved man, while the clerical-looking personage entirely hid his face, with the courant.

"no," said todd. "hair powder. i told this gentleman, whose feelings regarding the church do him so much honour, that i had hair powder in the house, and it has just come over me like a wet blanket that i have not a particle."

the clerical-looking gentleman quickly laid down the courant, and said wildly—

"are you sure you have none?"

"quite sure, sir."

"then i won't occupy your shop and read your courant for nothing, and as i am here i will have a shave."

"that's very kind of you, sir," said todd. "very kind."

"not at all," said the gentleman, taking up the paper again with all the coolness in the world. "not at all. don't mention it, i always like to carry out the moral maxim of—do unto others as you would that others should do unto you."

"how charming!" exclaimed todd, lifting up his hands, in one of which was the razor. "how charming it is in this indifferent and selfish age to meet with any one who is so charitable as to do more than merely speak of such a sentiment as a curiosity in morals."

"you are above your condition as regards education," said the clerical-looking gentleman.

"why, to tell the truth, sir—"

"psha!" said he who was being or rather not being shaved—"psha! and all this while the very soap is drying upon my face."

"a thousand pardons," said todd.

"many apologies," said the clerical gentleman, hastily resuming the perusal of the courant.

"sir," added todd, as he finished the shaving and whipped off the cloth from the patient. "sir, i should have finished you five minutes ago, so that i am sure no one would have heard the slightest complaint from you, but for the truly engaging conversation of this gentleman here, whom i shall have great pleasure now in polishing off."

"oh, don't name it," said the shaved customer, laying down a penny. "don't name it, i said i was in no hurry, so i can hardly blame you for taking your time."

he went through the usual operation of a partial sloush of cold water from a pewter basin, and then dried himself upon a jack towel, and left the shop.

"now, sir," said todd.

the clerical-looking gentleman waved his hand as though he would have said—

"for goodness sake don't interrupt me until i have finished this paragraph."

todd fixed his eyes upon him, and began slowly stropping the razor he had been recently using.

"now, sir, if you please."

"one moment—one—mo—ment, i shall get through the deaths in an in—stant."

todd continued stropping the razor, when suddenly the courant dropped from the hands of the clerical-looking gentleman, and he uttered a groan that made todd start.

"hopkins—hopkins—gabriel hopkins!"

"sir."

"hop—kins! my friend—my councillor—my fellow student—my companion—my mentor—my—my hopkins."

the clerical-looking gentleman shut up his face in his hands, and rocked to and fro in an agony of grief.

"good god, sir," cried todd, advancing. "what is the meaning of this?"

"in that paper you will find the death of hopkins inserted, sir. yes, in the obituary of that paper. gabriel hopkins—the true—the gentle—the affectionate—the christian—hop—kins!"

"how sorry i am, sir," said todd. "but, pray sit in this chair, sir, a shave will compose your feelings."

"a shave! you barbarian. do you think i could think of being shaved within two minutes of hearing of the death of the oldest and best friend i ever had in the world. no—no. oh, hopkins—hop—kins!"

the rev. gentleman in a paroxysm of grief rushed from the house, and todd himself sunk upon the shaving chair.

"it is, it must be so," cried todd, as his face became livid with rage and apprehension. "there is more in these coincidences than mere chance will suffice to account for. why is it that, if i have a customer here, some one else will be sure to come in, and then after waiting until he is gone himself, leave upon some frivolous excuse? do i stand upon a mine? am i suspected?—am i watched? or—or more terrible, ten times more terrible question still, am—am i at length, with all my care, discovered?"