The String of Pearls (1850), p. 381

"Indeed" muttered Todd. "Indeed. So, Sir Richard Blunt, who is called an active magistrate, is to know of my little adventure here? Well—well—we
shall see."
He darted from the door of the house, through which he had made so highly successful and adventurous a progress, and pursued William with such strides as soon brought him close up to him. But the thoroughfare in which they were way too public a one for Todd to venture upon any overt act in it.
He followed William sufficiently closely however to be enabled to take advantage of any opportunity that might present itself to possess himself by violence of the letter.
Now William had been told the affair was urgent, so of course he took all the nearest cuts he could to the house of Sir Richard Blunt, and such a mode of progress soon brought him into a sufficiently quiet street for Todd's purpose.
The latter looked right and left. He turned completely round, and no one was coming—a more favourable opportunity could not be. Stepping lightly up to William he by one heavy blow upon the back of his neck felled him.
The groom lay insensible.
Todd had seen him place the colonel's letter in his breast-pocket, and at once he dived his huge hand into that receptacle to find it. He was successful—one glance at the epistle that he drew forth sufficed to assure him that it was the one he sought. It was duly addressed to Sir Richard Blunt—"With speed and private."
"Indeed, very private," said Todd.
"Wretch! Wretch!" cried some one from a window, and Todd knew then that the deed of violence had been witnessed by some one from one of the houses.
With an execretion, he darted off at full speed, and soon placed a perfect labyrinth of streets between him and all pursuit. He thrust the letter all
crumbled up into his pocket, and he would not pause to read it until he was much nearer to Fleet-street than to the colonel's house, or the scene of his attack upon the groom. Then, by the light of a more than usually brilliant lamp, which with its expiring energies was showing the world what an old oil lamp could do, he opened and read the brief letter.
It was as follows.
"Dear Sir Richard.
"Todd has been here upon murderous thoughts intent. Poor Tobias has, I fear, broken a blood-vessel, and is in a most precarious condition. I leave all to you. The villain escaped, but is injured I think."
Your's very faithfully,
To Sir Richard Blunt. John Jeffery."
"Broken a blood-vessel," said Todd. "Ha! ha! Broken a blood-vessel. Ha! Then Tobias may yet be food for worms, and the meat of the pretty crawlers to the banquet. Ha!"
He walked on with quite a feeling of elation: and yet there was, as he came to think, a something—he could not exactly define what—about the tone of the letter, that began upon second thoughts to give him no small share of uneasiness.
The familiar way in which he was mentioned as Todd merely, without further description, argued some foregone conclusion. It seemed to say, Todd, the man whom we both know so well, and have our eyes upon.
Did it mean that? A cold perspiration broke out upon the forehead of the guilty wretch. What was he to think? What was he to do?
He read the letter again. It sounded much more unmeaning and strange now. He had at first been too much dazzled by the pleasant intelligence regarding Tobias, to comprehend fully the alarming tone of the epistle; but now it waked upon his imagination, and hi§ brain soon became vexed and troubled.