It was nearly two hours before dawn—a time in autumn that could truly be described as the dead of night. The streets were silent and deserted; even sounds seemed to be slumbering, and those who had spent the night in riot and excess had staggered home to dream. It was during this still and silent hour that Fagin sat watching in his old hideout. His face was so twisted and pale, and his eyes so red and bloodshot, that he looked less like a man than a ghastly phantom rising from the grave, tormented by an evil spirit.
He sat crouching over a cold fireplace, wrapped in an old, torn blanket. His gaze was fixed on a fading candle that stood on a table by his side. His right hand was raised to his lips, and as he bit his nails, lost in thought, his toothless gums revealed a few sharp teeth that looked more like those of a dog or a rat.
Stretched out on a mattress on the floor was Noah Claypole, fast asleep. The old man occasionally glanced at him for a second before returning his gaze to the candle. The wick had burnt so long that it was drooping over, and hot wax was falling in thick drops onto the table, showing clearly that Fagin’s mind was occupied with far more pressing matters.
Indeed, his thoughts were dark. He felt humiliated by the failure of his clever plan and consumed by hatred for the girl who had dared to speak with strangers. He utterly distrusted her refusal to betray him, and he felt a bitter disappointment at losing his chance for revenge against Sikes. These passionate thoughts, along with the fear of being caught and executed, swirled through Fagin’s brain in a ceaseless, violent cycle.
He remained in the same position, seemingly unaware of the passage of time, until his sharp ears caught the sound of a footstep in the street.
“At last,” he muttered, wiping his dry, feverish mouth. “At last!”
The bell rang gently. He crept upstairs to the door and soon returned with a man wrapped in a heavy coat that covered him to his chin, carrying a bundle under one arm. Sitting down and throwing back his coat, the man revealed the powerful, heavy frame of Bill Sikes.
“There!” he said, dropping the bundle on the table. “Take care of that and get as much for it as you can. It was enough trouble to get; I expected to be here three hours ago.”
Fagin placed his hand on the bundle and, after locking it in a cupboard, sat down again without a word. He did not take his eyes off the robber for a single moment. As they sat opposite each other, Fagin’s lips trembled so violently and his face was so distorted by emotion that Sikes instinctively drew back his chair, looking at him with genuine fear.
“What now?” Sikes cried. “Why are you looking at a man like that?”
Fagin raised his hand and shook a trembling finger in the air, but his rage was so intense that he was temporarily unable to speak.
“Damn it!” said Sikes, reaching into his coat with an alarmed expression. “He’s gone mad. I need to be on my guard.”
“No, no,” Fagin finally managed to say. “It’s not you, Bill. I have no fault to find with you.”
“Oh, you haven’t, have you?” said Sikes sternly, moving a pistol into a more convenient pocket. “That’s lucky—for one of us. It doesn't matter which.”
“I have something to tell you, Bill,” Fagin said, drawing his chair closer, “that will make you even more furious than I am.”
“Really?” the robber replied skeptically. “Tell me then! Be quick, or Nance will think I’m lost.”
“Lost!” Fagin cried. “She has probably already decided that in her own mind.”
Sikes looked at Fagin with great confusion. Finding no explanation in the old man’s face, he seized Fagin’s collar in his massive hand and shook him roughly.
“Speak!” he commanded. “Tell me what you have to say in plain words. Out with it, you old dog, out with it!”
“Suppose the boy lying there—” Fagin began.
Sikes turned toward Noah as if he hadn't noticed him before. “Well?” he said, returning to his position.
“Suppose that boy,” Fagin continued, “were to betray us—to inform on us all. Imagine him seeking out the right people, meeting them in the street to describe us, our habits, and the house where we could be most easily captured. Suppose he did this not because he was caught or pressured by the authorities, but of his own free will; stealing out at night to find our enemies and betraying us to them. Do you hear me?” the Jew cried, his eyes flashing with rage. “Suppose he did all that, what then?”
“What then!” Sikes replied with a terrible oath. “If he were still alive when I found him, I would grind his skull under the iron heel of my boot until it was smashed to pieces.”
“What if I were to do it!” Fagin yelled. “I, who know so much and could hang so many people!”
“I don't know,” Sikes replied, clenching his teeth and turning pale at the mere thought. “I would do something in jail to get myself put in chains; and if I were tried alongside you, I would attack you in the middle of the courtroom and beat your brains out in front of everyone. I would have such strength,” the robber muttered, tensing his muscular arm, “that I could crush your head as if a heavy wagon had run over it.”
“You would?”
“Would I!” said Sikes. “Try me.”
“If it were Charley, or the Dodger, or Bet, or—”
“I don't care who it was,” Sikes replied impatiently. “I would treat anyone the same way.”
Fagin looked hard at the robber and, signaling him to be silent, leaned over the bed and shook the sleeper to wake him. Sikes leaned forward, wondering where all this preparation was leading.
“Bolter, Bolter! Poor boy!” Fagin said, looking up with a malicious expression. “He’s exhausted from watching her for so long—watching for her, Bill.”
“What do you mean?” Sikes asked, pulling back.
Fagin didn't answer but hauled Noah into a sitting position. After his alias had been repeated several times, Noah rubbed his eyes and yawned, looking sleepily around.
“Tell me that again—just once more, so he can hear,” Fagin said, pointing to Sikes.
“Tell you what?” Noah asked irritably.
“That part about Nancy,” said Fagin, clutching Sikes’ wrist to prevent him from leaving. “You followed her?”
“Yes.”
“To London Bridge?”
“Yes.”
“Where she met two people.”
“She did.”
“A gentleman and a lady she had visited before. They asked her to betray her companions—starting with Monks—which she did. She described him, told them which house we meet at, the best place to watch it from, and what time we go there. She told them everything without a single threat or a murmur of complaint. She did all that, didn't she?” Fagin cried, half-mad with fury.
“That’s right,” Noah replied, scratching his head. “That’s exactly what happened.”
“And what did they say about last Sunday?”
“About last Sunday?” Noah considered. “I told you that already.”
“Tell it again!” Fagin screamed, tightening his grip on Sikes and waving his other hand in the air.
“They asked her,” said Noah, who was now fully awake and realizing who Sikes was, “they asked why she didn't come last Sunday as she had promised. She said she couldn’t.”
“Why? Tell him why!”
“Because she was kept at home by force by Bill—the man she had mentioned to them before,” Noah replied.
“What else did she say about him?” Fagin cried.
“Well, she said she couldn't easily get out unless he knew where she was going. She told the lady that the first time she came to see her, she—ha! ha!—it made me laugh when she said it—she gave him a drink of laudanum to make him sleep.”
“Hell’s fire!” Sikes shouted, breaking away from Fagin. “Let me go!”
Throwing the old man aside, he rushed from the room and dashed furiously up the stairs.
“Bill, Bill!” Fagin cried, following him. “Just one word!”
Sikes was struggling to open the door, cursing with violence, when Fagin arrived, panting.
“Let me out,” Sikes said. “Don't talk to me; it isn't safe. Let me out!”
“Hear me for one second,” Fagin said, his hand on the lock. “You won't be—”
“Well?” Sikes replied.
“You won't be... too violent, Bill?”
The day was breaking, and there was enough light for the men to see each other’s faces. They exchanged one brief glance; there was an unmistakable fire in the eyes of both.
“I mean,” Fagin said, realizing that further disguise was useless, “not so violent that it becomes dangerous for your own safety. Be clever, Bill, and not too reckless.”
Sikes made no reply. He pulled open the door and dashed into the silent streets.
Without pausing for a moment’s consideration, without once turning his head or looking at the sky, Sikes hurried toward his home. His teeth were clenched so tightly that his jaw seemed to bulge through his skin. He did not utter a word until he reached his own door. He opened it softly with a key, walked quietly up the stairs, and entered his room. He double-locked the door, pushed a heavy table against it, and pulled back the bed curtains.
Nancy was lying there, half-dressed. She raised herself with a startled look.
“Get up!” the man said.
“It’s you, Bill!” she said, looking pleased at his return.
“It is,” he replied. “Get up.”
A candle was burning, but Sikes snatched it from the holder and threw it into the fireplace. Seeing the faint morning light outside, the girl rose to pull back the window curtain.
“Leave it,” said Sikes, blocking her. “There’s enough light for what I have to do.”
“Bill,” she said, her voice trembling with alarm, “why are you looking at me like that?”
The robber stared at her for a few seconds, his chest heaving with rage. Then, grabbing her by the head and throat, he dragged her into the middle of the room. He looked once toward the door and placed his heavy hand over her mouth.
“Bill, Bill!” she gasped, struggling against him in mortal fear. “I—I won’t scream. Just hear me—speak to me—tell me what I’ve done!”
“You know what you’ve done!” the robber replied through his teeth. “You were watched tonight; every word you said was overheard.”
“Then spare my life, for the love of Heaven, just as I spared yours!” she cried, clinging to him. “Bill, dear Bill, you cannot have the heart to kill me. Oh, think of everything I have given up for you! Stop before you spill my blood! I have been true to you, I swear on my soul I have!”
The man struggled violently to free his arms, but she held on to him with all her strength.
“Bill,” she cried, trying to rest her head on his chest, “the gentleman and that lady told me tonight of a home in a foreign country where I could live in peace. Let me see them again and beg them to show you the same mercy. Let us both leave this dreadful place and lead better lives far apart. It is never too late to repent! They told me so—I feel it now—but we need time—just a little time!”
The housebreaker freed one arm and reached for his pistol. However, realizing that the noise would lead to his immediate capture, he used the heavy weapon to strike her twice across the face with all his force.
She staggered and fell, nearly blinded by the blood flowing from a deep cut on her forehead. With great difficulty, she rose to her knees and pulled a white handkerchief from her dress—the one Rose Maylie had given her. Holding it up toward Heaven with trembling hands, she breathed one final prayer for mercy.
It was a ghastly sight. The murderer, staggering back toward the wall and covering his eyes to shut out the view, seized a heavy club and struck her down, ending her life.