there was no connection between any of these things; it was more than likely there was not. But the fugitive’s heated brain, susceptible enough to sharp and deep impressions, was as yet quite incapable of consecutive thought; besides, he was always wondering whether the footstep behind him conveyed a hand that would close next instant upon his collar; and every minute there were many such in the crowded City streets.
Towards dusk his eye was taken by a common barber’s pole. Hitherto the desired sign had been that of the three gilt globes, and he had paused at one or two, peering through the windows without daring to enter. The barber was a new idea. Tom felt his chin, looked at it in the window, and found it thinly yellowed over to the depth of half an inch; his fair hair was also very long. He entered, and asked to have it cut and his face shaved. It was quite a small shop, near Finsbury Circus, whither Tom had drifted from the Bank.
“Another nice murder!” remarked the barber, reluctantly throwing aside the Courier for his scissors.
“Whereabouts?” said Tom, who had guessed from his face what the man was reading.
“London again!—’Am’sted ’Eath way this time.”
“Ah, that! Yes, I’ve heard of it. I’ll have my hair quite short, please.”
But the man would talk.
“Worse than Greenacre, I say.”
“How so?”
“Done for robbery; that there watch and diamond pin!”
“Ah!”
“On the other ’and, Greenacre, ’e cut ’er up. You don’t ’appen to be goin’ to the ’anging on Tuesday?
