Still completely stunned by the sudden and terrible change which had taken place in his affairs, Kit sat gazing out of the coach window, almost hoping to see some monstrous phenomenon in the streets which might give him reason to believe he was in a dream. Alas! Everything was too real and familiar: the same succession of turnings, the same houses, the same streams of people running side by side in different directions upon the pavement, the same bustle of carts and carriages in the road, the same well-remembered objects in the shop windows: a regularity in the very noise and hurry which no dream ever mirrored. Dreamlike as the story was, it was true. He stood charged with robbery; the note had been found upon him, though he was innocent in thought and deed; and they were carrying him back, a prisoner.
Absorbed in these painful ruminations, thinking with a drooping heart of his mother and little Jacob, feeling as though even the consciousness of innocence would be insufficient to support him in the presence of his friends if they believed him guilty, and sinking in hope and courage more and more as they drew nearer to the notary’s, poor Kit was looking earnestly out of the window, observant of nothing—when all at once, as though it had been conjured up by magic, he became aware of the face of Quilp.
And what a leer there was upon the face! It was from the open window of a tavern that it looked out; and the dwarf had so spread himself over it, with his elbows on the windowsill and his head resting on both his hands, that what between this attitude and his being swollen with suppressed laughter, he looked puffed and bloated into twice his usual breadth. Mr. Brass on recognising him immediately stopped the coach. As it came to a halt directly opposite to where he stood, the dwarf pulled off his hat, and saluted the party with a hideous and grotesque politeness.
“Aha!” he cried. “Where now, Brass? where now? Sally with you too? Sweet Sally! And Dick? Pleasant Dick! And Kit? Honest Kit!”
“He’s extremely cheerful!” said Brass to the coachman. “Very much so! Ah sir—a sad business! Never believe in honesty any more, sir.”
“Why not?” returned the dwarf. “Why not, you rogue of a lawyer, why not?”
“Bank note lost in our office sir,” said Brass, shaking his head. “Found in his hat sir—he previously left alone there—no mistake at all sir—chain of evidence complete—not a link wanting.”
“What!” cried the dwarf, leaning half his body out of window, “Kit a thief! Kit a thief! Ha ha ha! Why, he’s an uglier-looking thief than can be seen anywhere for a penny. Eh Kit—eh? Ha ha ha! Have you taken Kit into custody before he had time and opportunity to beat me! Eh Kit, eh?” And with that he burst into a yell of laughter, manifestly to the great terror of the coachman, and pointed to a dyer’s pole hard by, where a dangling suit of clothes bore some resemblance to a man upon a gibbet.
“Is it coming to that, Kit!” cried the dwarf, rubbing his hands violently. “Ha ha ha ha! What a disappointment for little Jacob, and for his darling mother! Let him have the Bethel minister to comfort and console him, Brass. Eh Kit, eh? Drive on coachey, drive on. Bye bye Kit; all good go with you; keep up your spirits; my love to the Garlands—the dear old lady and gentleman. Say I inquired after ’em, will you? Blessings on ’em, and on you, and on everybody, Kit. Blessings on all the world!”
With such good wishes and farewells, poured out in a rapid torrent until they were out of hearing, Quilp suffered them to depart; and when he could see the coach no longer, drew in his head, and rolled upon the ground in an ecstacy of enjoyment.
When they reached the notary’s, which they were not long in doing, for they had encountered the dwarf in a bye street at a very little distance from the house, Mr. Brass dismounted; and opening the coach door with a melancholy visage, requested his sister to accompany him into the office, with the view of preparing the good people within for the mournful intelligence that awaited them. Miss Sally complying, he desired Mr. Swiveller to accompany them. So, into the office they went; Mr. Sampson and his sister arm-in-arm; and Mr. Swiveller following, alone.
The notary was standing before the fire in the outer office, talking to Mr. Abel and the elder Mr. Garland, while Mr. Chuckster sat writing at the desk, picking up such crumbs of their conversation as happened to fall in his way. This posture of affairs Mr. Brass observed through the glass-door as he was turning the handle, and seeing that the notary recognised him, he began to shake his head and sigh deeply while that partition yet divided them.
“Sir,” said Sampson, taking off his hat, and kissing the two forefingers of his right hand beaver glove, “my name is Brass—Brass of Bevis Marks sir. I have had the honour and pleasure, sir, of being concerned against you in some little testamentary matters. How do you do, sir?”
“My clerk will attend to any business you may have come upon, Mr. Brass,” said the notary, turning away.
“Thank you sir,” said Brass, “thank you, I am sure. Allow me, sir, to introduce
