So far, however, from rushing upon somebody who offered no resistance and implored his mercy, Mr. Quilp was no sooner in the arms of the individual whom he had taken for his wife than he found himself complimented with two staggering blows on the head, and two more, of the same quality, in the chest, and closing with his assailant, such a shower of buffets rained down upon his person as sufficed to convince him that he was in skilful and experienced hands. Nothing daunted by this reception, he clung tight to his opponent, and bit and hammered away with such goodwill and heartiness, that it was at least a couple of minutes before he was dislodged. Then, and not until then, Daniel Quilp found himself, all flushed and dishevelled, in the middle of the street, with Mr. Richard Swiveller performing a kind of dance round him and requiring to know “whether he wanted any more.”
“There’s plenty more of it at the same shop,” said Mr. Swiveller, by turns advancing and retreating in a threatening attitude, “a large and extensive assortment always on hand—country orders executed with promptitude and despatch—will you have a little more, sir—don’t say no, if you’d rather not.”
“I thought it was somebody else,” said Quilp rubbing his shoulders, “why didn’t you say who you were?”
“Why didn’t you say who you were?” returned Dick, “instead of flying out of the house like a Bedlamite?”
“It was you that—that knocked,” said the dwarf, getting up with a short groan, “was it?”
“Yes, I’m the man,” replied Dick. “That lady had begun when I came, but she knocked too soft, so I relieved her.” As he said this, he pointed towards Mrs. Quilp, who stood trembling at a little distance.
“Humph!” muttered the dwarf, darting an angry look at his wife, “I thought it was your fault. And you, sir—don’t you know there has been somebody ill here, that you knock as if you’d beat the door down?”
“Damme!” answered Dick, “that’s why I did it. I thought there was somebody dead here.”
“You came for some purpose, I suppose,” said Quilp. “What is it you want?”
“I want to know how the old gentleman is,” rejoined Mr. Swiveller, “and to hear from Nell herself, with whom I should like to have a little talk. I’m a friend of the family, sir—at least I’m the friend of one of the family and that’s the same thing.”
“You’d better walk in then,” said the dwarf. “Go on, sir, go on. Now Mrs. Quilp—after you ma’am.”
Mrs. Quilp hesitated, but Mr. Quilp insisted. And it was not a contest of politeness, or by any means a matter of form, for she knew very well that her husband wished to enter the house in this order that he might have a favourable opportunity of inflicting a few pinches on her arms, which were seldom free from impressions of his fingers in black and blue colours. Mr. Swiveller who was not in the secret was a little surprised to hear a suppressed scream, and, looking round, to see Mrs. Quilp following him with a sudden jerk, but he did not remark on these appearances, and soon forgot them.
“Now Mrs. Quilp,” said the dwarf when they had entered the shop, “go you upstairs if you please to Nelly’s room, and tell her that she’s wanted.”
“You seem to make yourself at home here,” said Dick, who was unacquainted with Mr. Quilp’s authority.
“I am at home young gentleman,” returned the dwarf.
Dick was pondering what these words might mean, and still more what the presence of Mr. Brass might mean, when Mrs. Quilp came hurrying downstairs, declaring that the rooms above were empty.
“Empty, you fool!” said the dwarf.
“I give you my word, Quilp,” answered his trembling wife, “that I have been into every room and there’s not a soul in any of them.”
“And that,” said Mr. Brass, clapping his hands once with an emphasis, “explains the mystery of the key!”
Quilp looked frowningly at him, and frowningly at his wife, and frowningly at Richard Swiveller; but receiving no enlightenment from any of them hurried upstairs, whence he soon hurried down again, confirming the report which had been already made.
“It’s a strange way of going,” he said, glancing at Swiveller, “very strange not to communicate with me who am such a close and intimate friend of his. Ah! he’ll write to me no doubt, or he’ll bid Nelly write—yes, yes, that’s what he’ll do. Nelly’s very fond of me. Pretty Nell.”
Mr. Swiveller looked, as he was, all open-mouthed astonishment. Still glancing furtively at him, Quilp turned to Mr. Brass and observed with assumed carelessness that this need not interfere with the removal of the goods.
“For indeed,” he added, “we knew that they’d go away today, but not that they’d go so early or so quietly. But they have their reasons, they have their reasons.”
“Where in the devil’s name are they gone?” said the wondering Dick.
Quilp shook his head and pursed up his lips in a manner which implied that he knew very well, but was not at liberty to say.
“And what,” said Dick, looking at the confusion about him, “what do you mean by moving the goods?”
“That I have bought ’em, sir,” rejoined Quilp. “Eh? What then?”
“Has the sly old fox made his fortune then, and gone to live in a tranquil cot in a pleasant spot with a distant view of the changing sea?” said Dick, in great bewilderment.
“Keeping his place of retirement very close, that he may not be visited too often by affectionate grandsons and their devoted friends, eh?” added the dwarf, rubbing his hands hard; “I say nothing, but is that your meaning, sir?”
Richard Swiveller was utterly aghast at this unexpected alteration of circumstances, which threatened the complete overthrow of the project in which he bore so conspicuous a part, and seemed to nip his prospects in the bud. Having only received
