Chapter 12 (narrated by Tommy) Mr Bumble and the Stranger Mr Bumble was sitting by the fire in the workhouse where Oliver was born. He was drinking his tea and reading the paper, when a tall, dark man in a black coat came to see him. It was the man that Oliver had seen at the inn, and later outside his window with Fagin. 'Mr Bumble,' said the stranger, 'you are an officer of the workhouse, aren't you?' 'I am now master of the workhouse, young man,' said Mr Bumble slowly and in an important voice. 'I want you to tell me something,' said the stranger. 'I won't ask you to do it for nothing. Take this now.' As he spoke, the man put two gold coins on the table. Mr Bumble took them and put them in his pocket. 'Try to remember something, Mr Bumble,' said the stranger, 'Twelve years ago last winter something happened in your workhouse. A boy was born here.' 'Many boys!' replied Mr Bumble, shaking his head. 'There was one little boy with a thin face. He was sent out to work for a coffin-maker, then he ran away to London.' 'Ah, you mean Oliver Twist!' said Mr Bumble. 'Yes, I remember him!' 'I want to hear about the old woman who looked after his mother,' said the stranger, 'Where is she?' 'She died last winter,' said Mr Bumble. 'She had a friend with her when she died - another old woman from the workhouse. She was told something.' 'How can I find her?' asked the stranger. 'Only through me,' said Mr Bumble. 'When?' 'Tomorrow.' 'At nine in the evening,' said the stranger, taking a piece of paper and writing an address on it. 'Bring her to me at this place and in secret.' Mr Bumble looked at the paper and saw that it had no name on it. 'What name should I ask for?' he said. 'Monks,' answered the man, and walked quickly away. It was a hot summer evening. Mr Bumble went down to the river. An old woman was with him. 'The place must be near here,' said Mr Bumble, looking at the piece of paper by the light of his lamp. 'Hello!' said a voice from an old empty house. 'Come in!' They went in. The man in the black coat closed the door behind them. 'Now,' said the stranger to the old woman, 'what do you know about the mother of Oliver Twist? What did your friend tell you on her death bed?' 'How much money is her information worth to you?' said Mr Bumble. 'It may be worth nothing or it may be worth twenty pounds,' said Monks. 'Let me hear it first.' 'Give me twenty-five pounds in gold,' said Mr Bumble. Monks thought for a moment. Then he took some money from his pocket. He counted out twenty-five gold coins and gave them to Mr Bumble. 'Now,' he said. 'Let's hear the story.' 'When old Sally died,' said the old woman, 'she and I were alone.' 'Was there no one else near?' asked Monks. 'No one who could hear you?' 'No,' replied the old woman. 'We were alone.' 'Good,' said Monks. 'She talked about a young girl,' continued the woman, 'who had brought a child - Oliver Twist - into the world some years before. Old Sally told me that the young mother had given her something before she died. She had asked her, almost with her last breath, to keep it for the child.' 'And did she keep it for the boy? What did she do with it?' cried Monks. 'She kept it for herself. She never gave it to the child.' 'And' then?' 'She sold it to me.' 'Where is it now?' cried Monks. 'Here,' said the woman. She threw a small bag on to the table. Monks tore it open, inside a small gold locket there were two pieces of hair and a plain gold wedding ring. 'The ring has the word Agnes inside it,' said the old woman. 'That was the name of the child's mother.' 'And this is all?' said Monks. 'All,' replied the woman. 'Good,' said Monks.' Now come with me. I will show you what I am going to do with this jewellery.' He led them down to the river. 'There!' said Monks, throwing the bag into the river. 'That is the end of that! And you two will say nothing about all this?' 'Of course, Mr Monks,' said Mr Bumble, bowing. 'You can trust us.'