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Updated: June 15, 2025
"Oh, all right, give it me!" said Mr. Smivvle, rising. "Are you name o' Barrymaine?" "No, but you can leave it with me, and I " "Leave it?" repeated the head, in a slightly injured tone, "leave it? axing your pardons, gents, but burn my neck if I do! If you ain't name o' Barrymaine v'y then p'r'aps this is 'im a-coming upstairs now, and werry 'asty about it, too!"
V'y, Lord love you, there's been more murderers took and topped through me than any o' the other traps in London, it's a nat'ral gift vith me. Ye see, I collects 'em afore the fact, as ye might say. I can smell 'em out, feel 'em out, taste 'em out, it's jest a nat'ral gift." "But how? What do you mean?" "I means as I'll be valking along a street, say, looking at every face as I pass.
However, you may as well bring your pistols, mine are at the gun-smith's. Yours always, "So you see, sir," sighed Mr. Shrig, as he put away the little book, "my case is spiled, can't come off, mustn't come off! For if young B. is Number Vun, the murderer, and C. is Number Two, the accessory afore the fact, v'y then Number Three, the unfort'nate wictim is you, sir, you! And you " said Mr.
"But why should they want to do for me?" "V'y, sir, they'd do for their own mothers, j'yful, if you paid 'em to!" "But who would employ such a gang?"
"V'y, sir," said he, consulting a large-faced watch. "V'y, Mr. Beverley, it's eggs-actly tventy minutes arter the time for it!" "Yes," said Barnabas. "And you ain't shot, then?" "No, thank heaven." "Nor even vinged?" "Nor even winged, Mr. Shrig." "Fate," said Mr. Shrig, shaking a dejected head at him, "Fate is a werry wexed problem, sir!
"Vell, sir, that's me?" says Mottle-face, condescending to become aware of him at last. "Give me a hand up with my valise d'ye hear?" "Walise, sir? No, sir, can't be done, sir. In the boot, sir; guard, sir." "Boot!" cries the fussy gentleman indignantly. "I'll never trust my property in the boot!" "Then v'y not leave it be'ind, sir, and stay vith it, or "
But it 'ad to be yours or mine, and sir, axing your pardon, but there's a good many 'ats to be 'ad in London jest as good as yourn, for them as can afford 'em, but theer ain't another castor like mine no, not in the U-nited Kingdom." "Very true," nodded Barnabas, "and no hat ever could have had a more useful end, than mine." "V'y yes, sir better your castor than your sconce any day," said Mr.
"Here is the note, and if you wish, John Peterby will drive you back to London with him." "V'y, thank'ee sir, 'e shall that, but you, now?" Mr. Shrig paused, and, somewhat diffidently drew from his side pocket a very business-like, brass-bound pistol, which he proffered to Barnabas, "jest in case they should 'appen to come back, sir," said he.
I ain't partial to disguises as a rule, but circumstances obleeges me to it now and then," sighed Mr. Shrig as they turned into Hatton Garden. "Ye see, I've been keeping a eye or as you might say, a fatherly ogle on vun o' my fambly, vich is the v'y and the v'erefore o' these 'ere v'iskers.
Once more the echoing passage roared with the din of conflict, as their assailants rushed again, were checked, smote and were smitten, and fell back howling before the thrust of the nobbly stick and the swing of the heavy bludgeon. "Now vill ye run?" panted Mr. Shrig, straightening the broad-brimmed hat. "No!" "V'y then, I vill!" which Mr. Shrig immediately proceeded to do.
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