Chapter One
As the candles faded down to a dim, pale light, the boys sat opposite one another, eyes locked, mouths grinning. The older of the two smirked as he flipped over the card he held in his hand. He placed it down on the table and then leant back in his chair and gave an aloof sneer as lady luck smiled on him once more. The younger boy leant forward and snatched up the card in order to examine it more closely. His smile faded and he, turning away from the other, flicked it into the fire. Turning back, he placed his pipe in his mouth and lit it. The boy opposite was now beginning to get annoyed at his partner's casualness and his protracted actions.
"Have done with it. Put another down!"
The boy glanced over at his stack and seemed to be wondering what to do. After a lengthened pause, he took up a card and held it close to his eyes. A grin spread across his countenance and he pulled out the pipe, which he had stuck between his teeth. He smacked the card down upon the wooden surface.
"Ha! A knave! You'll hafta do better than that! Ha, ha, ha!" He clapped his hands together with glee and almost toppled over backwards in his chair. Catching himself, just before spilling over, he leant forward and swiped his opponent's hat clean off his head.
The Dodger (as he was known) gave his assailant a quick hit with his fist. After doing so, he stood up and pointed over to a chest of drawers. "Go on!"
Charley got to his feet, a crimson river flowing down from his nose. He stared down at the ground and made his way forward. Dodger kicked him from behind as a reinforcement to move faster.
Charley gave a slight squeal, but, none-the-less, staggered over to the chest and managed to pull out one of the drawers without any more abuse.
Dodge's steady gaze fixated on a dusty, green box, which Charley had previously procured. He tore it from his friend's grip and set it down upon the table. Pulling a candle close, he opened it and peered inside.
Charley came over and sat back down again. He wiped his nose, then took up his pipe and began to refill it. He ignored the fact that his friend was now in terrible danger of being banished or beaten by the owner of the box.
Several gold, silver, and pearl necklaces were extracted before Dodge seemed to find what he was seeking. He lifted out a ruby choker and examined it.
"Is that right?" asked Charley.
His friend nodded and placed the choker down one of the deep pockets in his coat. He then stowed away the box as quick as lightning. His friend continued to stare at him, an expression of concern upon his face.
"I should give it to her tomorrow?" asked Charley after taking a few puffs from his pipe.
"Yeah. She'll be rather in a better mood tomorrow. Besides, how could she not be with that around her neck?"
"What if . . .?"
"He'll just hafta deal. We do enough work anyway - might as well get something for it," he snorted in disgust and then headed for the door.
Charley, expecting this move, got up and swiftly placed himself in front of the door before Dodge could turn the knob. He looked his friend in the eye and said, "I won the bet. I get to do it!"
"Oh no! You knocked off my 'at an' no one does that!" Dodge pushed Charley aside and then gave him another quick kick in the shins. "Besides, she's mine; I saw her first!" with that, he left the room and locked his friend in.
"That does it!" cried Charley through the door. "I've had it with yer! I'll make you wish you were never born!" (Bang! Bang! Bang!)
The noise caused by Charley's clenched fists slamming against the door could be heard quite clearly as Dodge went down the small staircase to the street-door. He took a glance back up the steps and then shook his head in a melancholy manner. His colleague could be quite pathetic at different instances and this was one of them. Surely he knew that he was not locked in forever. Either way, an old Jew, who shared the quarters with them, would, no doubt, let him out if Dodge failed to do so.
Another exclamation came down the stairwell at that instant.
"I'll tell Fagin that you took one o' his treasures!"
Dodge paused on the landing and felt his heart beat louder than ever. His mind wandered in an anxious manner and his mouth felt dry. Being now quite scared, he walked slowly back up the stairs and put his eye to the keyhole. Charley was seated on the ground with his back resting against the door. His head was slightly blocking the view into the room and he was whispering as many different appalling exclamations as his vocabulary possessed, which was no small amount.
Dodge straightened himself and turned the key in the keyhole. A clicking sound was heard and Charley got to his feet. Dodge let the door swing open of it's own accord. He faced Charley and grinned.
Charley did not return the favor, but met it with a cold stare. He crossed his arms, turned, and walked away toward the window.
Dodge followed and tried to make up an apology. "Sorry, just a joke, Charley. You like jokes."
His friend cursed at him again and then mumbled, "Was not - just a joke, my foot. Such a liar."
"I swear it, Charley!" Dodge raised his voice.
Charley spun around and spat back, "Liar! You were going to steal the girl that I want. Well, I don't care; I'm still telling Fagin!"
"Not if I put it back!" Dodge darted over to the drawer and, not finding the box within, questioned Charley.
"Where is it?"
"What?" Charley was walking along the far wall, picking at the crumbly wallpaper that covered every inch of the dilapidated room.
"Where is it?!"
"I am sorry, my good sir," Charley continued to pace. "I am sure that I am not following you."
"You are too! The box, Charley - Fagin's box! You hid it and I know it is somewhere in here! I intend to find it."
"Fine," Charley pulled out his pipe, lit it, and took a long inhale. Next, he quietly went over to the window and crouched up on the sill.
Dodge began to tear the room apart. He pulled open drawers, overturned furniture, tapped the walls, and took down all the paintings, thinking that there could possibly be some sort of trap door underneath. Finding nothing, he stopped, panting in a heat of anxiety, and implored Charley to tell him where the box was placed.
"Please, Charley . . . just tell me. I will give you something . . ."
Charley looked over at Dodge in disinterest and dumped the ashes from his pipe onto the floor.
"Charley! Please . . ," Dodge crawled across the room in dismay and stopped once he got near his friends feet.
Charley dumped a bit more of his ashes, purposefully on the top of Dodge's hat.
That was all that Dodge could take. Within seconds, he and Charley were locked and rolling across the floor. They went from one end of the room to another, all the while punching and kicking each other in turn. After several minutes of continued fury, the fight stopped abruptly when Charley flung Dodge off himself, causing Dodge to hit his head against a desk.
Charley stepped back, terrified, to stare at his friend's bleeding form. In the sudden stillness, there was the sound of a door opening below.
Not knowing what exactly to do. Charley ran out into the hallway, shouting.
"Fagin! Fagin! Fagin!!"
There was a raspy exclamation of "Charley!" from down below. Charley peered down over the railing and watched as the decrepit Jew made his way up the stairs.
Charley ran back into the room and Fagin followed, walking at a slow pace. Once the Jew saw Dodge, he stepped back a bit in astonishment. "Charley . . ."
"I found him like this," Charley lied. "The room was like this when I came in."
The Jew eyed Charley for an instant, then turned his narrow eyes to peer about the room. In all this time, he did not make any sort of move; he didn't even turn his head.
Charley was worried. Knowing that Fagin was truly more interested in his own affairs - the main one being the box, he got onto the floor, next to his friend, and checked to make sure he was still alive.
Fagin, taking the time to look down at his protégé, remarked that Dodge should be moved to the room down the hall. Charley, knowing that this notion was being used as a diversion, went along with it in a way that showed he was unaware of the fact. He grabbed Dodge under the arms and dragged him out of the room.
Meanwhile, he listened intently for the sounds of the Jew searching the room. There was a shuffling noise after a moment and then several drawers were pulled out, giving the unmistakable sound of wood scraping wood.
Charley, focused his attention back on Dodge. He placed him on top of a pile of dirty rags and went to fetch a bit of whisky from a cabinet below.
As he searched for the amber liquid, there was a harsh cry from above. Charley knew instantly that it had come from the Jew; he had realized that his box was gone. Charley now felt a chill run up his spine. He fingered around in the half-dark and found a small, glass bottle. He lifted it up in front of the window and was able to obtain just enough information to decipher that it was indeed what he had been searching for. He noted that as he held up the bottle, his hand shook a bit. Now, more aware of his nervous condition than before, he made his way back upstairs.
Fagin was standing on the upper landing and appeared not to notice Charley as he approached. The Jew was gazing absent-mindedly down toward the darkness below. His eyes were glassy, yet there seemed to be a fire kindled inside that made them glow with a brown and red fire. He was mumbling to himself in a feverish state and gripped the banister so hard that the veins in his hands seemed to bulge from under his pale skin.
Charley stepped quietly by him and entered the bedroom into which he had placed Dodge. As he passed through the doorway, he turned his gaze to look at his reflection in a mirror upon the left wall. He looked for only an instant, but that was all he needed. His eyes stared back at him, round, glassy, and pale. His face was white and all the blood seemed to have drained from it onto his clothing. He was covered in flecks of blood. It glistened on his blue coat. Now, this was the reason that the Jew had stared at him.
His heart beat quickened and he felt his breathing become quite shallow. The Jew was known for cleverness and an innate ability to read between the lines in situations. Charley considered this for a moment. After some time, he came to the conclusion that Fagin had no suspicion of his being the attacker. Otherwise, the Jew would have, undoubtedly, chastised him for his wrongdoing. Dodge was his favorite pupil and anyone who was bold enough to overtake him would surely receive a bountiful amount of the Jew's rage or otherwise cause the old man to be so fearful as to run away.
Charley turned around and found that Fagin was still clinging to the staircase and that his body was leant against it in mourning for his loss and depraved consideration of what must be done next. Charley then turned back to look at Dodge. His friend had lost his hat somewhere in the beginning of their tussle and Charley was a bit surprised, or maybe uneasy, because he was unused to seeing the top of his friend's head. This time though, was worse for Charley. Dodge's head had a good-sized cut across it and there was blood flowing down his forehead in small rivulets. Charley grabbed one of the old rags and dampened it with some of the whisky. He then rubbed it across Dodge's head. Once most of the blood had been washed away, he pressed the rag to the wound, trying to clot it.
After a couple of minutes, he placed another rag on top, wrapped a long strip around his friend's head, and then propped it up under a pillow. All the time, Dodge had not moved or made a sound, but he was still alive. His heart was beating and he was breathing normally.
Charley now had the time to relax and to think things through properly. He had stolen and hid Fagin's treasure, had knocked out Dodge, and then had lied and blamed the whole thing on some other unknown person or persons. He didn't dare tell the truth to Fagin and he didn't dare leave Dodge alone; for he worried that he might tell Fagin the truth once he awoke. But Charley did have a plan for that and it was quite simple. He would propose to Dodge that they split the treasure. That would keep Dodge quiet and everything would go back to normal.
Charley sat down in the corner and pulled out his pipe once more. He had no more snuff in his pocket, but he still liked the comfort of feeling the thin clay between his teeth.
Now was the time that Charley came upon a strange, yet undeniable, fact. He had burglarized his boss's house. Even Bill Sikes had never done that! Charley pulled the pipe out of his mouth and stared out into the darkness. It would probably be the greatest feat of his life and yet, he could never tell anyone but Dodge. A sigh came to his lips and he realized for the first time, that Fagin was no longer standing outside on the landing. Charley shook his head and closed his eyes. The Jew had probably left the house and would not be back til daybreak. That was fine as far as Charley was concerned. In fact, he liked it better when the old man was gone. He only wished that Dodge would wake up. They could make a break for it. All he had to do was go into the other room and get the box out from underneath one of the floor-boards; along with his other treasures - which he also kept safely hidden there.
The loose floor-board had been a secret of Charley's for several years. He had discovered it during his second year of living with Dodge and the Jew. He had stumbled upon it during an afternoon in which he had been locked in as punishment for retaining several items that were ultimately supposed to be offered to Fagin, in keeping with the regular business.
After being in the room for several hours, he began to pace back and forth. During this time, he noted that one of the boards creaked ominously loud. Charley got down onto his knees and looked at the board. It had no nails in it, although there were holes where four had once been. He lifted the plank and found a thin space between two of the floor studs. It was empty except for some rat remains and sawdust. Also, it was lined at the bottom by wood and plaster; the ceiling of the room below. Charley found that this was an answer to his prayers. He could hide anything here. In fact, it was such a suitable location and obviously had never been noticed by anyone. Charley remembered reading a book once in which the main character hid a precious item. She placed it in the open and it was never noticed by the police. Basically an under-the-nose idea. He believed, at the time, that since the board was out in the open, it would not be noticed. He had been right. The last four years he had spent his life in a devotion to fill the hole with as many items as he could. If he stole three wallets, he would give two to the Jew and keep one to himself. If he stole six handkerchiefs, he would give four to the Jew and keep two for himself. In a way, it was a commission for his work.
By now, he had a good amount of savings. And now that he also could add on the Jew's box-full, he was a rich young man.
The darkness became deeper as Charley's mind was bent upon these things. He felt himself drifting off. The room became blurred as his lids closed down upon his eyes. He felt his arms collapse upon the floor and his head fall onto his shoulder. Voices came to his ears, but they were soft and far away. His last thought before he drifted off completely was: Bill is downstairs, talking to Fagin. And that was all.