The narrow streets and alleys finally opened into a large, vacant space filled with animal pens and other signs of a cattle market. Sikes slowed his pace once they reached this area, as Nancy was no longer able to keep up with the rapid speed at which they had been walking. Turning to Oliver, he roughly commanded him to take hold of Nancy’s hand.
“Do you hear me?” Sikes growled when Oliver hesitated and looked around for help.
They were in a dark corner, far from the path of any passing pedestrians. Oliver saw all too clearly that resistance would be useless. He held out his hand, which Nancy immediately clasped tightly in hers.
“Give me the other one,” said Sikes, seizing Oliver’s free hand. “Here, Bull’s-eye!”
The dog looked up and let out a low growl.
“Look here, boy!” Sikes said, putting his other hand to Oliver’s throat. “If he speaks even the quietest word, pin him down! Do you understand?”
The dog growled again and, licking his lips, watched Oliver as if he were eager to attack the boy’s throat without delay.
“He’s as willing as any human, I swear!” said Sikes, looking at the animal with a kind of grim, ferocious approval. “Now you know what to expect, young man, so cry out as much as you like; the dog will soon put an end to that game. Move on!”
Bull’s-eye wagged his tail at this unusually affectionate praise and, after giving another warning growl for Oliver’s benefit, led the way forward.
They were crossing Smithfield Market, though it was so dark and foggy that Oliver could not have distinguished it from the most expensive square in London. The shop lights could barely be seen through the heavy mist, which thickened every minute and wrapped the streets in gloom. This made the strange environment feel even more terrifying to Oliver, increasing his sense of hopelessness and misery.
They had walked only a few paces further when a deep church bell struck the hour. At the first sound, his two captors stopped and turned their heads toward the source of the noise.
“Eight o’clock, Bill,” Nancy said when the bell finished tolling.
“What’s the point of telling me that? I have ears, don’t I?” Sikes replied rudely.
“I wonder if they can hear it,” Nancy remarked quietly.
“Of course they can,” Sikes replied. “When I was in prison, I could hear every little sound from the fair outside. After I was locked up for the night, the noise from the streets made the jail feel so silent that I almost wanted to beat my brains against the iron door.”
“Poor fellows!” said Nancy, her face still turned toward the direction of the bell. “Oh, Bill, they are such fine young men!”
“Yes, that’s all you women ever think about,” Sikes answered cynically. “Fine young men! Well, they’re as good as dead now, so it doesn’t matter much.”
With this cold comfort, Mr. Sikes seemed to suppress a moment of jealousy. He gripped Oliver’s wrist more firmly and ordered him to keep walking.
“Wait a minute!” the girl said. “I wouldn’t be in such a hurry if it were you who was going to be hanged the next time the clock struck eight, Bill. I’d walk around this place until I collapsed, even if the ground were covered in snow and I didn't have a shawl to cover me.”
“And what good would that do?” asked the unsentimental Mr. Sikes. “Unless you could throw me a file and twenty yards of strong rope, you might as well be fifty miles away. Come on, and stop preaching.”
The girl let out a sudden laugh and drew her shawl closer around her. As they passed a gas lamp, Oliver felt her hand tremble, and looking up, he saw that her face had turned a deathly white.
They continued for another half-hour through quiet, filthy streets, meeting very few people. At last, they turned into a particularly disgusting narrow lane filled with shops selling old clothes. The dog ran ahead, as if he knew their journey was nearly over, and stopped in front of a closed, ruined house. A "To Let" board was nailed to the door, though it looked as if it had been there for years.
“All right,” Sikes whispered, glancing cautiously around.
Nancy leaned down near the shutters, and Oliver heard the sound of a bell ringing inside. They waited under a lamp for a few moments until the door was softly opened. Sikes seized the terrified boy by the collar and pulled him inside. The passage was pitch black, and they waited in silence while the person who had let them in locked and barred the door.
“Is anyone here?” Sikes asked.
“No,” replied a voice that Oliver thought he recognised.
“Is the old man here?” the robber inquired.
“Yes,” the voice replied, “and he’s been in a terrible mood. He’ll be glad to see you, won’t he!”
The sarcastic tone of the reply confirmed Oliver’s suspicions, though he could see nothing in the dark.
“Get a light,” Sikes ordered, “or we’ll break our necks or step on the dog.”
A minute later, the figure of Jack Dawkins, better known as the Artful Dodger, appeared with a candle. He gave Oliver a humorous grin but said nothing, instead gesturing for them to follow him downstairs. They crossed an empty kitchen and entered a low, damp room where they were greeted by a sudden shout of laughter.
“Oh, my goodness!” cried Charley Bates, who was laughing so hard he could barely speak. “Here he is! Oh, Fagin, look at him! I can’t stand it; it’s such a wonderful joke!”
Charley was so overcome with mirth that he lay on the floor and kicked his legs in delight for several minutes. Then, jumping up, he took the candle and walked around Oliver, inspecting his new clothes. Meanwhile, Fagin took off his nightcap and began making mockingly low bows to the bewildered boy. The Dodger, however, remained serious and immediately began searching Oliver’s pockets with professional efficiency.
“Look at his clothes, Fagin!” Charley shouted, holding the candle so close to Oliver’s jacket that he nearly scorched the fabric. “Top-quality cloth! He looks like a real gentleman!”
“I’m delighted to see you looking so well, my dear,” Fagin said with fake humility. “The Dodger will give you another suit so you don’t ruin those fine Sunday clothes. Why didn’t you write to say you were coming? We would have prepared a hot supper.”
This caused Charley Bates to roar with laughter again. However, the atmosphere changed when the Dodger pulled the five-pound note from Oliver’s pocket.
“What’s that?” Sikes asked, stepping forward as Fagin grabbed the money. “That belongs to me, Fagin.”
“No, no, my dear,” Fagin replied quickly. “This is mine, Bill. You can have the books.”
“Like hell I will!” Sikes said, putting on his hat with a determined look. “That money belongs to me and Nancy. If you don’t hand it over, I’ll take the boy back to where I found him.”
Oliver’s heart leaped at these words, hoping the dispute might actually lead to his return to Mr. Brownlow.
“Give it here!” Sikes demanded.
“This is hardly fair, Bill,” Fagin argued, looking to Nancy for support.
“Fair or not,” Sikes retorted, “hand it over! Do you think Nancy and I have nothing better to do than spend our time kidnapping boys for you? Give it here, you greedy old skeleton!”
With this rough protest, Sikes snatched the note from Fagin’s fingers. He folded it up and tied it securely in his neckerchief. “That’s for our trouble,” he said. “You can keep the books and sell them if you want.”
“They’re very nice books,” Charley Bates remarked, pretending to read one. “Beautiful handwriting, isn't it, Oliver?”
Seeing the look of pure despair on Oliver’s face, Charley began to laugh again.
“They belong to the old gentleman!” Oliver cried, wringing his hands in agony. “The kind gentleman who took me in and nursed me when I was dying. Please, send them back! Keep me here forever if you must, but send back the books and the money. He’ll think I stole them! They will all think I’m a thief! Have mercy on me and send them back!”
Oliver fell to his knees at Fagin’s feet, weeping with passion and desperation.
“The boy is right,” Fagin remarked, his shaggy eyebrows knitting together. “You’re right, Oliver; they will think you stole them. It couldn’t have worked out better if we had planned it ourselves!”
“Of course,” Sikes added. “They are soft-hearted people, or they wouldn't have taken him in. They won’t come looking for him because they’ll be too embarrassed to admit they were robbed by a child. He’s safe here.”
Oliver looked from one man to the other, appearing totally overwhelmed. Suddenly, he jumped to his feet and ran wildly from the room, screaming for help.
“Keep the dog back, Bill!” Nancy screamed, jumping in front of the door to block Sikes as Fagin and the boys chased after Oliver. “The dog will tear him to pieces!”
“And he deserves it!” Sikes shouted, trying to push her aside. “Get out of my way, or I’ll hurt you!”
“I don’t care, Bill!” Nancy screamed, struggling violently with him. “The child won’t be attacked by that dog unless you kill me first!”
Sikes gritted his teeth and threw the girl across the room just as Fagin and the boys returned, dragging a struggling Oliver back into the room.
“What’s going on here?” Fagin asked, looking around at the chaos.
“The girl has lost her mind,” Sikes replied savagely.
“No, I haven’t, Fagin!” Nancy shouted, pale and breathless. “Don’t you believe it!”
“Then keep quiet!” Fagin hissed with a threatening look.
“No, I won’t!” Nancy replied defiantly.
Fagin knew Nancy well enough to realize that arguing with her in this state was dangerous. To change the subject, he turned his attention back to Oliver.
“So, you wanted to get away, did you?” Fagin said, picking up a heavy, knotted wooden club from the corner. “You wanted to call the police?”
Oliver didn’t answer; he just watched the club, breathing heavily.
“We’ll cure you of that,” Fagin sneered, seizing the boy’s arm. He struck Oliver hard across the shoulders with the club. As he raised it for a second blow, Nancy rushed forward and snatched it from his hand. She threw it into the fire with such force that sparks flew across the room.
“I won’t stand here and watch you beat him, Fagin!” she cried. “You’ve got the boy back, what more do you want? Leave him alone, or I’ll do something that will send me to the gallows!”
She stood there, trembling with rage, her hands clenched into fists as she stared at the two men.
“Why, Nancy,” Fagin said in a soothing tone after a long silence. “You’re acting beautifully tonight. You’re more clever than ever!”
“Am I?” she said. “Be careful, Fagin. If I lose my temper completely, it will be the worse for you.”
There is something about a woman driven to despair that most men are afraid to provoke. Fagin saw that her rage was real and stepped back, looking at Sikes as if asking him to deal with her. Sikes responded with a series of threats and curses, but they had no effect on her.
“Do you know who you are and what you are?” Sikes growled.
“Oh, I know exactly what I am,” Nancy replied with a hysterical laugh.
“Then keep quiet,” Sikes ordered, “or I’ll quiet you for a very long time.”
Nancy bit her lip until it bled, looking away from him.
“You’re a fine one to talk about being humane,” Sikes sneered. “A great friend for the child to have!”
“God help me, I am!” Nancy cried passionately. “I wish I had died in the street before I helped bring him here. He will be a thief and a liar from this night on. Isn’t that enough for you, you old wretch, without beating him too?”
“Come, come,” Fagin said, trying to calm things down as the boys watched the scene with interest. “We must have civil words, Bill.”
“Civil words!” Nancy screamed. “You deserve nothing from me! I’ve been stealing for you since I was a child half his age! I’ve served you for twelve years—don’t you deny it!”
“Well,” Fagin replied, “it’s been your living, hasn't it?”
“Yes, it is!” she screamed. “The cold, wet streets are my home, and you’re the one who drove me there years ago, and you’ll keep me there until I die!”
“I’ll do you more harm than that if you don't shut up!” Fagin shouted, losing his patience.
Nancy didn't say another word. Instead, she rushed at Fagin with such fury that she would have surely injured him if Sikes hadn't grabbed her wrists. She struggled for a moment and then fainted.
“She’s fine now,” Sikes said, laying her in a corner. “She’s incredibly strong when she’s like this.”
Fagin wiped his forehead and smiled, relieved that the drama was over. To the criminals, this was just a normal part of their business.
“That’s the trouble with women,” Fagin said, putting the club away. “But they’re clever, and we can’t succeed in this business without them. Charley, take Oliver to bed.”
“I suppose he shouldn’t wear his best clothes tomorrow?” Charley asked with a grin.
“Certainly not,” Fagin replied.
Charley led Oliver into a nearby kitchen where several old beds were laid out. With another burst of laughter, he produced the very same rags Oliver had worn when he first arrived. These were the clothes Fagin had bought back from the servant at Mr. Brownlow’s house, which had given the thieves their first clue as to where Oliver was staying.
“Take off the fancy clothes,” Charley said. “I’ll give them to Fagin for safekeeping. This is so much fun!”
Oliver had no choice but to obey. Charley took the new clothes and left, locking the door behind him. Despite the noise of Charley’s laughter and the sound of Nancy’s friend, Bet, arriving to help her recover, Oliver was so exhausted and ill that he soon fell into a deep sleep.