双城记 查尔斯·狄更斯-第60部分

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‘Arrested　for　all　that。　When　was　it　done；　Mr。　Barsad？'　
‘Just　now；　if　at　all。'
‘Mr。　Barsad　is　the　best　authority　possible；　sir；'　said　Sydney；　‘and　I　have　it　from　Mr。　Barsad's　munication　to　a　friend　and　brother　Sheep　over　a　bottle　of　wine；　that　the　arrest　has　taken　place。　He　left　the　messengers　at　the　gate；　and　saw　them　admitted　by　the　porter。　There　is　no　earthly　doubt　that　he　is　retaken。'
Mr。　Lorry's　business　eye　read　in　the　speaker's　face　that　it　was　loss　of　time　to　dwell　upon　the　point。　Confused；　but　sensible　that　something　might　depend　on　his　presence　of　mind；　he　manded　himself　and　was　silently　attentive。
‘Now；　I　trust；'　said　Sydney　to　him；　‘that　the　name　and　influence　of　Doctor　Manette　may　stand　him　in　as　good　stead　to…morrow　you　said　he　would　be　before　the　Tribunal　again　to…morrow；　Mr。　Barsad？………'
‘Yes；　I　believe　so。'
‘……In　as　good　stead　to…morrow　as　to…day。　But　it　may　not　be　so。　I　own　to　you；　I　am　shaken；　Mr。　Lorry；　by　Doctor　Manette's　not　having　had　the　power　to　prevent　this　arrest。
‘He　may　not　have　known　of　it　beforehand；'　said　Mr。　Lorry。　‘But　that　very　circumstance　would　be　alarming；　when　we　remember　how　identified　he　is　with　his　son…in…law。'
‘That's　true；'　Mr。　Lorry　acknowledged；　with　his　troubled　hand　at　his　chin；　and　his　troubled　eyes　on　Carton。
‘In　short；'　said　Sydney；　‘this　is　a　desperate　time；　when　desperate　games　are　played　for　desperate　stakes。　Let　the　Doctor　play　the　winning　game；　I　will　play　the　losing　one。　No　man's　life　here　is　worth　purchase。　Any　one　carried　home　by　the　people　to…day；　may　be　condemned　to…morrow。　Now；　the　stake　I　have　resolved　to　play　for；　in　case　of　the　worst；　is　a　friend　in　the　Conciergerie。　And　the　friend　I　purpose　to　myself　to　win；　is　Mr。　Barsad。'
‘You　need　have　good　cards；　sir；'　said　the　spy。
‘I'll　run　them　over。　I'll　see　what　I　hold。……Mr。　Lorry；　you　know　what　a　brute　I　am；　I　wish　you'd　give　me　a　little　brandy。'
It　was　put　before　him；　and　he　drank　off　a　glassful……rank　off　another　glassful……pushed　the　bottle　thoughtfully　away。
‘Mr。　Barsad；'　he　went　one　‘in　the　tone　of　one　who　really　was　looking　over　a　hand　at　cards：　‘Sheep　of　the　prisons；　emissary　of　Republican　mittees；　now　turnkey；　now　prisoner；　always　spy　and　secret　informer；　so　much　the　more　valuable　here　for　being　English　that　an　Englishman　is　less　open　to　suspicion　of　subornation　in　those　characters　than　a　Frenchman；　represents　himself　to　his　employers　under　a　false　name。　That's　a　very　good　card。　Mr。　Barsad；　now　in　the　employ　of　the　republican　French　government；　was　former！y　in　the　employ　of　the　aristocratic　English　government；　the　enemy　of　France　and　freedom。　That's　an　excellent　card。　Inference　clear　as　day　in　this　region　of　suspicion；　that　Mr。　Barsad；　still　in　the　pay　of　the　aristocratic　English　government；　is　the　spy　of　Pitt；　the　treacherous　foe　of　the　Republic　crouching　in　its　bosom；　the　English　traitor　and　agent　of　all　mischief　so　much　spoken　of　and　so　difficult　to　find。　That's　a　card　not　to　be　beaten。　Have　you　followed　my　hand；　Mr。　Barsad？'　
‘Not　to　‘understand　your　play；'　returned　the　spy；　somewhat　uneasily。
‘I　play　my　Ace；　Denunciation　of　Mr。　Barsad　to　the　nearest　Section　mittee。　Look　over　your　hand；　Mr。　Barsad；　and　see　what　you　have。　Don't　hurry。'
He　drew　the　bottle　near；　poured　out　another　glassful　of　brandy；　and　drank　it　off。　He　saw　that　the　spy　was　fearful　of　his　drinking　himself　into　a　fit　state　for　the　immediate　denunciation　of　him。　Seeing　it；　he　poured　out　and　drank　another　glassful。
Look　over　your　hand　carefully；　Mr。　Barsad。　Take　time。'　It　was　a　poorer　hand　than　he　suspected。　Mr。　Barsad　saw　losing　cards　in　it　that　Sydney　Carton　knew　nothing　of。　Thrown　out　of　his　honourable　employment　in　England；　through　too　much　unsuccessful　hard　swearing　there……not　because　he　was　not　wanted　there：　our　English　reasons　for　vaunting　our　superiority　to　secrecy　and　spies　are　of　very　modern　date……he　knew　that　he　had　crossed　the　Channel；　and　accepted　service　in　France：　first；　as　a　tempter　and　an　eavesdropper　among　his　own　countrymen　there：　gradually；　as　a　tempter　and　an　eavesdropper　among　the　natives。　He　knew　that　under　the　overthrown　government　he　had　been　a　spy　upon　Saint　Antoine　and　Defarge's　wine…shop；　had　received　from　the　watchful　police　such　heads　of　information　concerning　Doctor　Manette's　imprisonment；　release；　and　history；　as　should　serve　him　for　an　introduction　to　familiar　conversation　with　the　Defarges；　and　tried　them　on　Madame　Defarge；　and　had　broken　down　with　them　signally。　He　always　remembered　with　fear　and　trembling；　that　that　terrible　woman　had　knitted　when　he　talked　with　her；　and　had　looked　ominously　at　him　as　her　fingers　moved。　He　had　since　seen　her；　in　the　Section　of　Saint　Antoine；　over　and　over　a　gain　produce　her　knitted　registers；　and　denounce　people　whose　lives　the　guillotine　then　surely　swallowed　up。　He　knew；　as　every　one　employed　as　he　was　did；　that　he　was　never　safe；　that　flight　was　impossible；　that　he　was　tied　fast　under　the　shadow　of　the　axe；　and　that　in　spite　of　his　utmost　tergiversation　and　treachery　in　furtherance　of　the　reigning　terror；　a　word　might　bring　it　down　upon　him。　Once　denounced；　and　on　such　grave　grounds　as　had　just　now　been　suggested　to　his　mind；　he　foresaw　that　the　dreadful　woman　of　whose　unrelenting　character　he　had　seen　many　proofs；　would　produce　against　him　that　fatal　register；　and　would　quash　his　last　chance　of　life。　Besides　that　all　secret　men　are　men　soon　terrified；　here　were　surely　cards　enough　of　one　black　suit；　to　justify　the　holder　in　growing　rather　livid　as　he　turned　them　over。
‘You　scarcely　seem　to　like　your　hand；'　said　Sydney；　with　the　greatest　posure。　‘Do　you　play？'
‘I　think；　sir；'　said　the　spy；　in　the　meanest　manner；　as　he　turned　to　Mr。　Lorry；　‘I　may　appeal　to　a　gentleman　of　your　years　and　benevolence；　to　put　it　to　this　other　gentleman；　so　much　your　junior；　whether　he　can　under　any　circumstances　reconcile　it　to　his　station　to　play　that　Ace　of　which　he　has　spoken。　I　admit　that　I　am　a　spy；　and　that　it　is　considered　a　discreditable　station……though　it　must　be　filled　by　somebody；　but　this　gentleman　is　no　spy；　and　why　should　he　so　demean　himself　as　to　make　himself　one？'
‘I　play　my　Ace；　Mr。　Barsad；'　said　Carton；　taking　the　answer　on　himself；　and　looking　at　his　watch；　‘without　any　scruple　in　a　very　few　minutes。'
‘I　should　have　hoped；　gentlemen　both；'　said　the　spy；　always　striving　to　hook　Mr。　Lorry　into　the　discussion；　‘that　your　respect　for　my　sister………'
‘I　could　not　better　testify　my　respect　for　your　sister　than　by　finally　relieving　her　of　her　brother；'　said　Sydney　Carton。
‘You　think　not；　sir？'
‘I　have　thoroughly　made　up　my　mind　about　it。'
The　smooth　manner　of　the　spy；　curiously　in　dissonance　with　his　ostentatiously　rough　dress；　and　probably　with　his　usual　demeanour；　received　such　a　check　from　the　inscrutability　of　Carton；……who　was　a　mystery　to　wiser　and　honester　men　than　he；……that　it　faltered　here　and　failed　him。　While　he　was　at　a　loss；　Carton　said；　resuming　his　former　air　of　contemplating　cards：
‘And　indeed；　now　I　think　again；　I　have　a　strong　impression　that　I　have　another　good　card　here；　not　yet　enumerated。　That　friend　and　fellow…Sheep；　who　spoke　of　himself　as　pasturing　in　the　country　prisons；　who　was　he？'
‘French。　You　don't　know　him；'　said　the　spy　quickly。
‘French；　eh！'　repeated　Carton；　musing；　and　not　appearing　to　notice　him　at　all；　though　he　echoed　his　word。　‘Well；　he　may　be。'
‘Is；　I　assure　you；'　said　the　spy；　‘though　it's　not　important。'　‘Though　it's　not　important；'　repeated　Carton　in　the　same　mechanical　way……'though　it's　not　important　No；　it's　not　important。　No。　Yet　I　know　the　face。'
‘I　think　not。　I　am　sure　not。　It　can't　be；'　said　the　spy。
‘It……can't……be；'　muttered　Sydney　Carton；　retrospectively；　and　filling　his　glass　（which　fortunately　was　a　small　one）　again。　‘Can't……be。　Spoke　good　French。　Yet　like　a　foreigner；　I　thought？'
‘Provincial；'　said　the　spy。
‘No。　Foreign！'　cried　Carton；　striking　his　open　hand　on　the　table；　as　a　light　broke　clearly　on　his　mind。　‘Cly！　Disguised；　but　the　same　man。　We　had　that　man　before　us　at　the　Old　Bailey。'
‘Now；　there　you　are　hasty；　sir；'　said　Barsad；　with　a　smile　that　gave　his　aquiline　nose　an　extra　inclination　to　one　side；　‘there　you　really　give　me　an　advantage　over　you。　Cly　（who　I　will　unreservedly　admit；　at　this　distance　of　time；　was　a　partner　of　mine）　has　been　dead　several　years。　I　attended　him　in　his　last　illness。　He　was　buried　in　London；　at　the　church　of　Saint　Pancras…in…the…Fields。　His　unpopularity　with　the　blackguard　multitude　at　the　moment　prevented　my　following　his　remains；　but　I　helped　to　lay　him　in　his　coffin。'
Here；　Mr。　Lorry　became　aware；　from　where　he　sat；　of　a　most　remarkable　goblin　shadow　on　the　wall。　Tracing　it　to　its　source；　he　discovered　it　to　be　caused　by　a　sudden　extraordinary　rising　and　stiffening　of　all　the　risen　and　stiff　hair　on　Mr。　Cruncher's　head。
‘Let　us　be　reasonable；'　said　the　spy；　‘and　let　us　be　fair。　To　show　you　how　mistaken　you　are；　and　what　an　unfounded　assumption　yours　is；　I　will　lay　before　you　a　certificate　of　Cly's　burial；　which　I　happen　to　have　carried　in　my　pocket…book；'　with　a　hurried　hand　he　produced　and　opened　it；　‘ever　since。　There　it　is。　Oh；　look　at　it；　look　at　it！　You　may　take　it　in　your　hand；　it's　no　forgery。'
Here；　Mr。　Lorry　perceived　the　reflection　on　the　wall　to　elongate；　and　Mr。　Cruncher　rose　and　stepped　forward。　His　hair　could　not　have　been　more　violently　on　end；　if　it　had　been　that　moment　dressed　by　the　Cow　with　the　crumpled　horn　in　the　house　that　Jack　built。
Unseen　by　the　spy；　Mr。　Cruncher　stood　at　his　side；　and　touched　him　on　the　shoulder　like　a　ghostly　bailiff。
‘That　there　Roger　Cly；　master；'　said　Mr。　Cruncher；　with　a　taciturn　and　iron…bound　visage。　‘So　you　but　him　in　his　coffin？'　
‘I　did。'
‘Who　took　him　out　of　it？'
Barsad　leaned　back　in　his　chair；　and　stammered；　‘What　do　you　mean？'
‘I　mean；'　said　Mr。　Cruncher；　‘that　he　warn't　never　in　it。　No！　Not　he！　I'll　have　my　head　took　off；　if　he　was　ever　in　it。'
The　spy　looked　round　at　the　two　gentlemen；　they　both　looked　in　unspeakable　astonishment　at　Jerry。
‘I　tell　you；'　said　Jerry；　‘that　you　buried　paving…stones　and　earth　in　that　there　coffin。　Don't　go　and　tell　me　that　you　buried　Cly。　It　was　a　take　in。　Me　and　two　more　knows　it。'
‘How　do　you　know　it？'
‘What's　that　to　you？　Ecod！'　growled　Mr。　Cruncher；　‘it's　you　I　have　got　a　old