‘Yes, sir,’ returned Mrs. Sparsit, with a meek shake of her head, ‘he certainly did so. Though I do not mean to say but that my feelings may be weaker on such points—more foolish if the term is preferred—than they might have been, if I had always occupied my present position.’

Mr. Bounderby stared with a bursting pride at Mr. Harthouse, as much as to say, ‘I am the proprietor of this female, and she’s worth your attention, I think.’ Then, resumed his discourse.

‘You can recall for yourself, Harthouse, what I said to him when you saw him. I didn’t mince the matter with him. I am never mealy with ’em. I KNOW ’em. Very well, sir. Three days after that, he bolted. Went off, nobody knows where: as my mother did in my infancy—only with this difference, that he is a worse subject than my mother, if possible. What did he do before he went? What do you say;’ Mr. Bounderby, with his hat in his hand, gave a beat upon the crown at every little division of his sentences, as if it were a tambourine; ‘to his being seen—night after night—watching the Bank?—to his lurking about there—after dark?—To its striking Mrs. Sparsit—that he could be lurking for no good—To her calling Bitzer’s attention to him, and their both taking notice of him—And to its appearing on inquiry to-day—that he was also noticed by the neighbours?’ Having come to the climax, Mr. Bounderby, like an oriental dancer, put his tambourine on his head.

‘Suspicious,’ said James Harthouse, ‘certainly.’

‘I think so, sir,’ said Bounderby, with a defiant nod. ‘I think so. But there are more of ’em in it. There’s an old woman. One never hears of these things till the mischief’s done; all sorts of defects are found out in the stable door after the horse is stolen; there’s an old woman turns up now. An old woman who seems to have been flying into town on a broomstick, every now and then. _She_ watches the place a whole day before this fellow begins, and on the night when you saw him, she steals away with him and holds a council with him—I suppose, to make her report on going off duty, and be damned to her.’

There was such a person in the room that night, and she shrunk from observation, thought Louisa.

‘This is not all of ’em, even as we already know ’em,’ said Bounderby, with many nods of hidden meaning. ‘But I have said enough for the present. You’ll have the goodness to keep it quiet, and mention it to no one. It may take time, but we shall have ’em. It’s policy to give ’em line enough, and there’s no objection to that.’