“By all means.”
Mr. Nadgett picked out a certain chair from among the rest, and having planted it in a particular spot, as carefully as if he had been going to vault over it, placed another chair in front of it; leaving room for his own legs between them. He then sat down in chair number two, and laid his pocketbook, very carefully, on chair number one. He then untied the pocketbook, and hung the string over the back of chair number one. He then drew both the chairs a little nearer Mr. Montague, and opening the pocketbook spread out its contents. Finally he selected a certain memorandum from the rest, and held it out to his employer, who, during the whole of these preliminary ceremonies, had been making violent efforts to conceal his impatience.
“I wish you wouldn’t be so fond of making notes, my excellent friend,” said Tigg Montague with a ghastly smile. “I wish you would consent to give me their purport by word of mouth.”
“I don’t like word of mouth,” said Mr. Nadgett gravely. “We never know who’s listening.”
Mr. Montague was going to retort, when Nadgett handed him the paper, and said, with quiet exultation in his tone, “We’ll begin at the beginning, and take that one first, if you please, sir.”
The chairman cast his eyes upon it, coldly, and with a smile which did not render any great homage to the slow and methodical habits of his spy. But he had not read half-a-dozen lines when the expression of his face began to change, and before he had finished the perusal of the paper, it was full of grave and serious attention.
“Number Two,” said Mr. Nadgett, handing him another, and receiving back the first. “Read Number Two, sir, if you please. There is more interest as you go on.”
Tigg Montague leaned backward in his chair, and cast upon his emissary such a look of vacant wonder (not unmingled with alarm), that Mr. Nadgett considered it necessary to repeat the request he had already twice preferred; with the view to recalling his attention to the point in hand. Profiting by the hint, Mr. Montague went on with Number Two, and afterwards with Numbers Three, and Four, and Five, and so on.
These documents were all in Mr. Nadgett’s writing, and were apparently a series of memoranda, jotted down from time to time upon the backs of old letters, or any scrap of paper that came first to hand. Loose straggling scrawls they were, and of very uninviting exterior; but they had weighty purpose in them, if the chairman’s face were any index to the character of their contents.
The progress of Mr. Nadgett’s secret satisfaction arising out of the effect they made, kept pace with the emotions of the reader. At first, Mr. Nadgett sat with his spectacles low down upon his nose, looking over them at his employer, and nervously rubbing his hands. After a little while, he changed his posture in his chair for one of greater ease, and leisurely perused the next document he held ready as if an occasional glance at his employer’s face were now enough, and all occasion for anxiety or doubt were gone. And finally he rose and looked out of the window, where he stood with a triumphant air until Tigg Montague had finished.
“And this is the last, Mr. Nadgett!” said that gentleman, drawing a long breath.
“That, sir, is the last.”
“You are a wonderful man, Mr. Nadgett!”
“I think it is a pretty good case,” he returned as he gathered up his papers. “It cost some trouble, sir.”
“The trouble shall be well rewarded, Mr. Nadgett.” Nadgett bowed. “There is a deeper impression of Somebody’s Hoof here, than I had expected, Mr. Nadgett. I may congratulate myself upon your being such a good hand at a secret.”
“Oh! nothing has an interest to me that’s not a secret,” replied Nadgett, as he tied the string about his pocketbook, and put it up. “It always takes away any pleasure I may have had in this inquiry even to make it known to you.”
“A most invaluable constitution,” Tigg retorted. “A great gift for a gentleman employed as you are, Mr. Nadgett. Much better than discretion; though you possess that quality also in an eminent degree. I think I heard a double knock. Will you put your head out of window, and tell me whether there is anybody at the door?”
Mr. Nadgett softly raised the sash, and peered out from the very corner, as a man might who was looking down into a street from whence a brisk discharge of musketry might be expected at any moment. Drawing in his head with equal caution, he observed, not altering his voice or manner:
“Mr. Jonas Chuzzlewit!”
“I thought so,” Tigg retorted.
“Shall I go?”
“I think you had better. Stay though! No! remain here, Mr. Nadgett, if you please.”
It was remarkable how pale and flurried he had become in an instant. There was nothing to account for it. His eye had fallen on his razors; but what of them!
Mr. Chuzzlewit was announced.
“Show him up directly. Nadgett! don’t you leave us alone together. Mind you don’t, now! By the Lord!” he added in a whisper to himself: “We don’t know what may happen.”
Saying this, he hurriedly took up a couple of hairbrushes, and began to exercise them on his own head, as if his toilet had not been interrupted. Mr. Nadgett withdrew to the stove, in which there was a small fire for the convenience of heating curling-irons; and taking advantage of so favourable an opportunity for drying his pocket-handkerchief, produced it without loss of time. There he stood, during the whole interview, holding it before the bars, and sometimes, but not often, glancing over his shoulder.
“My dear Chuzzlewit!” cried Montague, as Jonas entered; “you rise with the lark. Though you go to bed with the
