“Where’s Oliver?” Fagin asked, rising with a threatening look. “Where’s the boy?”
The young thieves watched their master as if they were alarmed by his violence, looking at each other uneasily. However, they made no reply.
“What’s become of the boy?” Fagin shouted, seizing the Dodger tightly by the collar and threatening him with terrible curses. “Speak out, or I’ll choke you!”
The old man looked so serious that Charley Bates, who considered it wise in all cases to stay on the safe side, and who thought it likely that he might be the next one to be attacked, dropped to his knees. He began to let out a loud, continuous roar—something between the sound of an angry bull and a trumpet.
“Will you speak?” thundered Fagin, shaking the Dodger so violently that it seemed a miracle the boy remained inside his oversized coat at all.
“Why, the police have got him, and that’s the end of it,” said the Dodger sullenly. “Come on, let go of me, will you!”
With a sudden jerk, the Dodger swung himself entirely out of the big coat, leaving it in Fagin’s hands. He snatched up a metal toasting fork and aimed it at the old man’s waistcoat. If the blow had landed, it would have caused a wound that even Fagin’s "merry" spirit couldn’t have easily recovered from.
The old man stepped back quickly, showing more agility than one would expect from a man of his apparent weakness. Seizing a heavy pot, he prepared to hurl it at his attacker’s head. However, at that moment, Charley Bates let out such a terrifying howl that Fagin suddenly changed his aim and threw the pot directly at the young gentleman instead.
“Why, what on earth is going on now!” growled a deep voice. “Who threw that at me? It’s lucky it was the beer that hit me and not the pot, or I’d have finished someone off. I should have known that nobody but a greedy, thieving old man like Fagin could afford to throw away any drink but water—and he wouldn’t even have that unless he was stealing it from the Water Company! What’s this all about, Fagin? My neckerchief is soaked with beer! Come in, you sneaking beast; why are you stopping outside as if you were ashamed of your master? Come in!”
The man who growled these words was a stoutly-built fellow of about thirty-five. He wore a black velvet coat, very dirty trousers, lace-up boots, and grey cotton stockings that covered a pair of bulky, muscular legs. In such an outfit, his legs looked somewhat incomplete without a pair of iron chains to decorate them. He wore a brown hat and a filthy handkerchief around his neck, which he used to wipe the beer from his face. When he finished, he revealed a broad, heavy face with a three-day-old beard and two scowling eyes, one of which was bruised and discoloured from a recent blow.
“Come in, do you hear?” growled this unpleasant criminal.
A white, shaggy dog, its face covered in scratches and scars, crept into the room.
“Why didn’t you come in before?” the man asked. “Are you getting too proud to be seen with me in front of company? Lie down!”
This command was followed by a kick that sent the animal to the other end of the room. The dog appeared used to this treatment; he curled up quietly in a corner without making a sound. Winking his ugly eyes rapidly, he began to observe the room.
“What are you up to? Mistreating the boys, you greedy, selfish old criminal?” the man said, sitting down deliberately. “I wonder why they don’t murder you! I would if I were them. If I had been your apprentice, I’d have done it long ago. Actually, I couldn't even sell your body afterwards—you’re only fit to be kept as a curiosity in a glass bottle, and I suppose they don’t make bottles large enough for someone as ugly as you.”
“Hush! Hush! Mr. Sikes,” said Fagin, trembling. “Don’t speak so loud!”
“Don’t ‘mister’ me,” replied the ruffian. “You always mean trouble when you start being polite. You know my name: use it! I won’t be ashamed of it when my time comes to face the judge.”
“Well, then—Bill Sikes,” said Fagin with humble submission. “You seem to be in a bad mood, Bill.”
“Perhaps I am,” replied Sikes. “And you seem rather upset too, unless you always throw metal pots around for no reason, or when you’re about to snitch and—”
“Are you mad?” Fagin interrupted, catching the man by the sleeve and pointing toward the boys.
Mr. Sikes responded by tying an imaginary knot under his left ear and jerking his head to the side—a silent gesture representing a hanging, which Fagin appeared to understand perfectly. He then used various slang terms, which were common in his world but would be unintelligible to others, to demand a glass of spirits.
“And make sure you don’t poison it,” Sikes added, placing his hat on the table.
He said this as a joke, but if he had seen the evil look Fagin gave him as he turned toward the cupboard, he might have thought the warning was necessary.
After drinking two or three glasses of liquor, Mr. Sikes finally acknowledged the boys. This led to a conversation in which the details of Oliver’s capture were explained. The Dodger, of course, adjusted the facts to make himself look better.
“I’m afraid,” said Fagin, “that he may say something that will get us into trouble.”
“That’s very likely,” Sikes replied with a cruel grin. “You’ve been discovered, Fagin.”
“And I’m afraid, you see,” added Fagin, ignoring the interruption and watching the other man closely, “that if it’s all over for us, it might be over for many others too. It would probably end much worse for you than for me, my dear.”
Sikes started and turned toward the old man. But Fagin simply shrugged his shoulders and stared blankly at the opposite wall.
There was a long silence. Every member of the group seemed lost in their own thoughts, including the dog, who was licking his lips as if he were planning to bite the next person he met in the street.
“Somebody must find out what happened at the police office,” Sikes said in a much lower voice.
Fagin nodded in agreement.
“If he hasn’t talked yet and is sent to prison, there’s no danger until he comes out,” said Sikes. “Then we must deal with him. You must get hold of him somehow.”
Again, Fagin nodded.
The wisdom of this plan was obvious, but there was one major problem: the Dodger, Charley Bates, Fagin, and Bill Sikes all shared a deep-seated hatred for going anywhere near a police station.
They might have sat there in uncertainty for a long time if two young women, whom Oliver had met before, had not suddenly entered the room.
“The very thing!” said Fagin. “Bet will go; won’t you, my dear?”
“Where to?” the young lady asked.
“Just to the office, my dear,” said Fagin persuasively.
The young lady did not exactly say "no," but she expressed her refusal using very colourful language, making it clear she had no intention of going. This showed she possessed a certain natural spirit that could not be easily persuaded.
Fagin’s face fell. He turned from this young lady, who was brightly dressed in a red gown and green boots, to the other woman.
“Nancy, my dear,” said Fagin in a soothing tone, “what do you say?”
“I say it won’t work, so don't even try it, Fagin,” Nancy replied.
“What do you mean by that?” Sikes asked, looking up in a grumpy manner.
“Exactly what I said, Bill,” she replied calmly.
“Why, you’re the perfect person for it,” Sikes argued. “Nobody in that area knows you.”
“And I don’t want them to know me either,” Nancy replied in the same composed voice. “So it’s a ‘no’ from me, Bill.”
“She’ll go, Fagin,” Sikes insisted.
“No, she won’t,” Nancy repeated.
“Yes, she will,” Sikes declared.
And Mr. Sikes was right. Through a combination of threats, promises, and bribes, Nancy was eventually persuaded to take on the task. Unlike her friend, Nancy had recently moved to the area from a distant suburb, so she was not afraid of being recognized by anyone.
Accordingly, with a clean white apron tied over her dress and a straw hat on her head—both provided by Fagin’s large supply of clothes—Miss Nancy prepared to leave.
“Wait a minute, my dear,” said Fagin, producing a small basket. “Carry this in one hand. It makes you look more respectable.”
“Give her a door-key to carry in the other hand, Fagin,” Sikes added. “It makes her look genuine.”
“Yes, yes, my dear, it does,” said Fagin, hanging a large key on Nancy's finger. “There! Very good indeed!”
“Oh, my brother! My poor, sweet, innocent little brother!” Nancy cried out suddenly, bursting into tears and shaking her basket in a show of great distress. “What has happened to him! Where have they taken him! Oh, please have pity and tell me what’s been done with the dear boy!”
Having performed this heart-broken act to the great delight of the others, Nancy paused, winked at the group, and disappeared.
“She’s a clever girl, my dears,” said Fagin, turning to the boys and shaking his head as if telling them to follow her example.
“She’s an honour to her sex,” said Sikes, filling his glass and hitting the table with his massive fist. “Here’s to her health!”
While they were praising Nancy, she made her way to the police office. Despite being a little nervous about walking through the streets alone, she arrived safely.
Entering through the back, she tapped softly at one of the cell doors. There was no sound, so she coughed and listened again. Still no reply, so she spoke.
“Nolly, dear?” Nancy whispered. “Nolly?”
The only person inside was a poor, shoeless criminal who had been arrested for playing the flute in public. A judge named Mr. Fang had sentenced him to a month of hard labour, mockingly suggesting that his breath would be better used on a treadmill than on a musical instrument. He didn’t answer, as he was too busy mourning the loss of his flute, which the police had taken away. Nancy moved to the next cell and knocked.
“Well?” a weak voice answered.
“Is there a little boy here?” Nancy asked with a fake sob.
“No,” replied the voice. “God forbid.”
This man was a beggar who had been arrested for doing nothing. In the next cell was another man arrested for selling pans without a license. Since none of these people were Oliver, Nancy went straight to a stern-looking officer and, with many tears and dramatic cries, asked for her "dear brother."
“I haven’t got him, my dear,” said the officer.
“Where is he?” Nancy screamed, acting as if she were losing her mind.
“A gentleman took him,” the officer replied.
“What gentleman? Oh, heavens! What gentleman?” Nancy exclaimed.
The officer informed her that Oliver had become ill in the office. He had been released because a witness proved the robbery was committed by another boy who had escaped. The man who had been robbed—the prosecutor—had taken Oliver to his own home in a carriage. All the officer knew was that the house was somewhere in Pentonville.
In a state of calculated distress, Nancy staggered to the gate. Once outside, she stopped her slow walk and began to run quickly. She took a complicated route back to Fagin’s house to ensure no one followed her.
As soon as Bill Sikes heard the news, he called his dog, put on his hat, and left immediately without saying goodbye.
“We must find out where he is; he must be found!” Fagin said, becoming very excited. “Charley, spend all your time looking for him! Nancy, I trust you and the Dodger to handle everything! Wait,” Fagin added, unlocking a drawer with a shaking hand. “Here is some money. I shall close the shop tonight. You’ll know where to find me! Don’t stay here another minute!”
He pushed them out of the room and locked the door behind them. He then retrieved the hidden box of jewels he had accidentally shown Oliver and began to hide the watches and jewellery inside his clothes.
A knock at the door startled him. “Who’s there?” he cried out.
“It’s me!” the Dodger replied through the keyhole.
“What now?” Fagin asked impatiently.
“Should he be kidnapped and brought to the other house, as Nancy suggests?” asked the Dodger.
“Yes,” Fagin replied, “as soon as she finds him. Just find him, that’s all. I’ll know what to do next.”
The boy murmured that he understood and hurried downstairs.
“He hasn’t snitched yet,” Fagin said to himself as he continued his work. “And if he plans to tell his new friends about us, we can still find a way to keep him quiet.”