Chapter 6
A robbery
Oliver was forced to wear filthy rags again. For several days the thieves made him stay in the attic, watched over by the vicious Bullseye. Every time Oliver went near the door, Bullseye snarled, showing his sharp fangs. “Don’t set the dog on him, Bill,” Nancy begged. “You’ve got Oliver back. You don’t have to frighten him now.” “Oh don’t I?” snarled Bill. He brandished a pistol. “See this, Oliver?” Oliver nodded nervously. “It’s loaded. If you don’t do what you’re told I’ll fire. Understand?” “Yes, Bill,” said Oliver, trembling. “Good. There’s a job I want to do tonight. Big house, loaded with silver and jewels. They keep a small window open and I need a scrap of a boy to slip through it and undo the door locks.” “He means what he says about the gun,” advised Fagin. “Don’t try and cross Bill Sikes.” When night fell, Bill dragged Oliver to the house. They hid under a bush until the church clock struck midnight. It was intensely dark. Bill hoisted Oliver up to a tiny window. “Get in,” he hissed. “Please don’t make me steal,” implored Oliver. Sikes raised his fist. “Do it, or I’ll bash your head in.” He shoved Oliver through the window, lit a lantern and handed it to him. “Open the front door.” He ordered. “There’s a bolt at the top you won’t reach, so stand on one of the chairs. Remember, you’re in my gunshot range.” Oliver saw Bill’s pistol aimed at him. He had no choice: he crept inside and went to unlock the door. As he slid back the bolt, he heard Bill running around to the front of the house. “I must warn the family, somehow,” Oliver thought. “I don’t care what happens to me.” And he dropped the lantern with a clatter. After that, everything seemed to happen at once. Bill burst in to grab Oliver, a man appeared with a gun, and both men fired. Oliver screamed, caught in the crossfire. He clutched his arm and saw his sleeve turn red. Bill dragged him outside. “You fool,” he growled. “They’ll be after us. RUN!” But Oliver, his arm throbbing, lagged behind. Bill flung him into a ditch. “You’re too slow,” he yelled down at him. “You can die here.” When Bill finally reached Fagin’s house, Nancy rushed up to him. “How did it go?” she asked. “Disaster,” said Bill curtly. “Get me a drink.” “Where’s the boy, Bill?” “Dying in a ditch somewhere.” “You can’t leave him there,” Nancy cried. “I’ll go and find him.” Bill lurched to his feet. “Don’t you dare, Nancy?” But Nancy had grabbed her cloak and was running through the door. A crafty look spread over Bill’s face. “After her, Bulls eye,” he ordered. “She won’t get away with this.” Nancy run to the house Bill had tried to rod and searched everywhere for Oliver. At last she found him, weak and shivering “Thank you for coming,” he muttered. She quickly bandaged his bleeding arm with her shawl. “I found your friend Mr. Brownlow. “I’ll take you to him,” she whispered. “He’ll be waiting for us on London Bridge.” “I don’t believe you,” Oliver said. “It’s a trick.” “It isn’t, Oliver, I promise. I met Mr. Brownlow yesterday. It’s all arranged.” “Why are you doing this?” “I’ve worked for Fagin since I was little. I don’t want you to suffer like me.” “Stay with me,” Oliver urged her. “Mr. Brownlow will look after you too. We could both start a new life.” “I can’t leave Bill,” Nancy shrugged. “I know he’s bed, but I love him. Besides,” she added, “I’ve been a thief all my life. It’s too late to change now.” It’s never too late,” said Oliver. They hurried through the dark streets where flickering gas lamps shone eerie shafts of light on the cobbles. Neither of them saw the dog following them – a dog with a scratched torn face and an eager snarling mouth. And behind the dog, a man, who mover with silent, stealthy footsteps through the shadows.