Immediately afterwards, he twists him into a public-house and into a parlour, where he confronts him and claps his own back against the door.
'Now, George,' says Mr. Bucket, 'duty is duty, and friendship is friendship. I never want the two to clash if I can help it. I have endeavoured to make things pleasant to-night, and I put it to you whether I have done it or not. You must consider yourself in custody, George.'
'Custody? What for?' returns the trooper, thunderstruck.
'Now, George,' says Mr. Bucket, urging a sensible view of the case upon him with his fat forefinger, 'duty, as you know very well, is one thing, and conversation is another. It's my duty to inform you that any observations you may make will be liable to be used against you. Therefore, George, be careful what you say. You don't happen to have heard of a murder?'
'Murder!'
'Now, George,' says Mr. Bucket, keeping his forefinger in an impressive state of action, 'bear in mind what I've said to you. I ask you nothing. You've been in low spirits this afternoon. I say, you don't happen to have heard of a murder?'
'No. Where has there been a murder?'
'Now, George,' says Mr. Bucket, 'don't you go and commit yourself.
I'm a-going to tell you what I want you for. There has been a murder in Lincoln's Inn Fields-gentleman of the name of Tulkinghorn. He was shot last night. I want you for that.'
The trooper sinks upon a seat behind him, and great drops start out upon his forehead, and a deadly pallor overspreads his face.
'Bucket! It's not possible that Mr. Tulkinghorn has been killed and that you suspect ME?'
'George,' returns Mr. Bucket, keeping his forefinger going, 'it is certainly possible, because it's the case. This deed was done last night at ten o'clock. Now, you know where you were last night at ten o'clock, and you'll be able to prove it, no doubt.'
'Last night! Last night?' repeats the trooper thoughtfully. Then it flashes upon him. 'Why, great heaven, I was there last night!'
'So I have understood, George,' returns Mr. Bucket with great deliberation. 'So I have understood. Likewise you've been very often there. You've been seen hanging about the place, and you've been heard more than once in a wrangle with him, and it's possible -I don't say it's certainly so, mind you, but it's possible-that he may have been heard to call you a threatening, murdering, dangerous fellow.'
The trooper gasps as if he would admit it all if he could speak.
'Now, George,' continues Mr. Bucket, putting his hat upon the table with an air of business rather in the upholstery way than otherwise, 'my wish is, as it has been all the evening, to make things pleasant. I tell you plainly there's a reward out, of a hundred guineas, offered by Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet. You and me have always been pleasant together; but I have got a duty to discharge; and if that hundred guineas is to be made, it may as well be made by me as any other man. On all of which accounts, I should hope it was clear to you that I must have you, and that I'm damned if I don't have you. Am I to call in any assistance, or is the trick done?'
Mr. George has recovered himself and stands up like a soldier.
'Come,' he says; 'I am ready.'
'George,' continues Mr. Bucket, 'wait a bit!' With his upholsterer manner, as if the trooper were a window to be fitted up, he takes from his pocket a pair of handcuffs. 'This is a serious charge, George, and such is my duty.'
The trooper flushes angrily and hesitates a moment, but holds out his two hands, clasped together, and says, 'There! Put them on!'
Mr. Bucket adjusts them in a moment. 'How do you find them? Are they comfortable? If not, say so, for I wish to make things as pleasant as is consistent with my duty, and I've got another pair in my pocket.' This remark he offers like a most respectable tradesman anxious to execute an order neatly and to the perfect satisfaction of his customer. 'They'll do as they are? Very well!
Now, you see, George'-he takes a cloak from a corner and begins adjusting it about the trooper's neck-'I was mindful of your feelings when I come out, and brought this on purpose. There!
Who's the wiser?'
'Only I,' returns the trooper, 'but as I know it, do me one more good turn and pull my hat over my eyes.'
'Really, though! Do you mean it? Ain't it a pity? It looks so.'
'I can't look chance men in the face with these things on,' Mr.
George hurriedly replies. 'Do, for God's sake, pull my hat forward.'
So strongly entreated, Mr. Bucket complies, puts his own hat on, and conducts his prize into the streets, the trooper marching on as steadily as usual, though with his head less erect, and Mr. Bucket steering him with his elbow over the crossings and up the turnings.
CHAPTER L
Esther's Narrative
It happened that when I came home from Deal I found a note from Caddy Jellyby (as we always continued to call her), informing me that her health, which had been for some time very delicate, was worse and that she would be more glad than she could tell me if I would go to see her. It was a note of a few lines, written from the couch on which she lay and enclosed to me in another from her husband, in which he seconded her entreaty with much solicitude.
Caddy was now the mother, and I the godmother, of such a poor little baby-such a tiny old-faced mite, with a countenance that seemed to be scarcely anything but cap-border, and a little lean, long-fingered hand, always clenched under its chin. It would lie in this attitude all day, with its bright specks of eyes open, wondering (as I used to imagine) how it came to be so small and weak. Whenever it was moved it cried, but at all other times it was so patient that the sole desire of its life appeared to be to lie quiet and think. It had curious little dark veins in its face and curious little dark marks under its eyes like faint remembrances of poor Caddy's inky days, and altogether, to those who were not used to it, it was quite a piteous little sight.
But it was enough for Caddy that SHE was used to it. The projects with which she beguiled her illness, for little Esther's education, and little Esther's marriage, and even for her own old age as the grandmother of little Esther's little Esthers, was so prettily expressive of devotion to this pride of her life that I should be tempted to recall some of them but for the timely remembrance that I am getting on irregularly as it is.
To return to the letter. Caddy had a superstition about me which had been strengthening in her mind ever since that night long ago when she had lain asleep with her head in my lap. She almost-I think I must say quite- believed that I did her good whenever I was near her. Now although this was such a fancy of the affectionate girl's that I am almost ashamed to mention it, still it might have all the force of a fact when she was really ill. Therefore I set off to Caddy, with my guardian's consent, post-haste; and she and Prince made so much of me that there never was anything like it.
Next day I went again to sit with her, and next day I went again.
It was a very easy journey, for I had only to rise a little earlier in the morning, and keep my accounts, and attend to housekeeping matters before leaving home.
But when I had made these three visits, my guardian said to me, on my return at night, 'Now, little woman, little woman, this will never do. Constant dropping will wear away a stone, and constant coaching will wear out a Dame Durden. We will go to London for a while and take possession of our old lodgings.'
'Not for me, dear guardian,' said I, 'for I never feel tired,' which was strictly true. I was only too happy to be in such request.
'For me then,' returned my guardian, 'or for Ada, or for both of us. It is somebody's birthday to-morrow, I think.'
'Truly I think it is,' said I, kissing my darling, who would be twenty-one to-morrow.
'Well,' observed my guardian, half pleasantly, half seriously,
