bleak house(凄凉的房子)-第103节
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considers such； and attends the Evening Exertions （which is the
name they go by） of a reverend party of the name of Chadband。 He
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has a great deal of eloquence at his command undoubtedly； but I
am not quite favourable to his style myself。 That’s neither here nor
there。 My little woman being engaged in that way； made it easier
for me to step round in a quiet manner。”
Mr Tulkinghorn assents。 “Fill your glass； Snagsby。”
“Thank you； sir； I am sure；” returns the stationer； with his
cough of deference。 “This is wonderfully fine wine； sir！”
“It is a rare wine now；” says Mr Tulkinghorn。 “It is fifty years
old。”
“Is it indeed； sir？ But I am not surprised to hear it； I am sure。 It
might be—any age almost。” After rendering this general tribute to
the port； Mr Snagsby in his modesty coughs an apology behind his
hand for drinking anything so precious。
“Will you run over； once again； what the boy said？” asks Mr
Tulkinghorn； putting his hands into the pockets of his rusty small…
clothes and leaning quietly back in his chair。
“With pleasure； sir。”
Then； with fidelity； though with some prolixity； the law…
stationer repeats Jo’s statement made to the assembled guests at
his house。 On coming to the end of his narrative； he gives a great
start； and breaks off with—“Dear me； sir； I wasn’t aware there was
any other gentleman present！”
Mr Snagsby is dismayed to see； standing with an attentive face
between himself and the lawyer； at a little distance from the table；
a person with a hat and stick in his hand who was not there when
he himself came in； and has not since entered by the door or by
either of the windows。 There is a press in the room； but its hinges
have not creaked； nor has a step been audible upon the floor。 Yet
this third person stands there； with his attentive face； and his hat
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and stick in his hands； and his hands behind him； a composed and
quiet listener。 He is a stoutly…built； steady…looking； sharp…eyed
man in black； of about the middle…age。 Except that he looks at Mr
Snagsby as if he were going to take his portrait； there is nothing
remarkable about him at first sight but his ghostly manner of
appearing。
“Don’t mind this gentleman；” says Mr Tulkinghorn； in his quiet
way。 “This is only Mr Bucket。”
“Oh indeed； sir？” returns the stationer； expressing by a cough
that he is quite in the dark as to who Mr Bucket may be。
“I wanted him to hear this story；” says the lawyer； “because I
have half a mind （for a reason） to know more of it； and he is very
intelligent in such things。 What do you say to this； Bucket？”
“It’s very plain； sir。 Since our people have moved this boy on；
and he’s not to be found on his old lay； if Mr Snagsby don’t object
to go down with me to Tom…all…Alone’s and point him out； we can
have him here in less than a couple of hours’ time。 I can do it
without Mr Snagsby； of course； but this is the shortest way。”
“Mr Bucket is a detective officer； Snagsby；” says the lawyer in
explanation。
“Is he indeed； sir？” says Mr Snagsby； with a strong tendency in
his clump of hair to stand on end。
“And if you have no real objection to accompany Mr Bucket to
the place in question；” pursues the lawyer； “I shall feel obliged to
you if you will do so。”
In a moment’s hesitation on the part of Mr Snagsby； Bucket
dips down to the bottom of his mind。
“Don’t you be afraid of hurting the boy；” he says。 “You won’t do
that。 It’s all right as far as the boy’s concerned。 We shall only bring
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him here to ask him a question or so I want to put to him； and he’ll
be paid for his trouble； and sent away again。 It’ll be a good job for
him。 I promise you； as man； that you shall see the boy sent away
all right。 Don’t you be afraid of hurting him； you an’t going to do
that。”
“Very well； Mr Tulkinghorn！” cries Mr Snagsby cheerfully； and
reassured； “since that’s the case—”
“Yes！ and lookee here； Mr Snagsby；” resumes Bucket； taking
him aside by the arm； tapping him familiarly on the breast； and
speaking in a confidential tone。 “You’re a man of the world； you
know； and a man of business； and a man of sense。 “That’s what
you are。”
“I am sure I am much obliged to you for your good opinion；”
returns the stationer； with his cough of modesty； “but—”
“That’s what you are； you know；” says Bucket。 “Now； it an’t
necessary to say to a man like you； engaged in your business；
which is a business of trust and requires a person to be wide
awake and have his senses about him； and his head screwed on
tight （I had an uncle in your business once）—it an’t necessary to
say to a man like you； that it’s the best and wisest way to keep little
matters like this quiet。 Don’t you see？ Quiet！”
“Certainly； certainly；” returns the stationer。
“I don’t mind telling you；” says Bucket； with an engaging
appearance of frankness； “that； as far as I can understand it； there
seems to be a doubt whether this dead person wasn’t entitled to a
little property； and whether this female hasn’t been up to some
games respecting that property； don’t you see！”
“O！” says Mr Snagsby； but not appearing to see quite distinctly。
“Now； what you want；” pursues Bucket； again tapping Mr
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Snagsby on the breast in a comfortable and soothing manner； “is；
that every person should have their rights according to justice。
That’s what you want。”
“To be sure；” returns Mr Snagsby with a nod。
“On account of which； and at the same time to oblige a—do you
call it； in your business； customer or client？ I forget how my uncle
used to call it。”
“Why； I generally say customer myself；” replies Mr Snagsby。
“You’re right！” returns Mr Bucket； shaking hands with him
quite affectionately；—“on account of which； and at the same time
to oblige a real good customer； you mean to go down with me； in
confidence； to Tom…all…Alone’s； and to keep the whole thing quiet
ever afterwards and never mention it to any one。 That’s about
your intentions if I understand you。”
“You are right； sir。 You are right；” says Mr Snagsby。
“Then here’s your hat；” returns his new friend； quite as
intimate with it as if he had made it； “and if you’re ready； I am。”
They leave Mr Tulkinghorn； without a ruffle on the surface of
his unfathomable depths； drinking his old wine； and go down into
the streets。
“You don’t happen to know a very good sort of person of the
name of Gridley； do you？” says Bucket； in a friendly converse as
they descend the stairs。
“No；” says Mr Snagsby； considering； “I don’t know anybody of
that name。 Why？”
“Nothing particular；” says Bucket； “only； having allowed his
temper to get a little the better of him； and having been
threatening some respectable people； he is keeping out of the way
of a warrant I have got against him—which it’s a pity that a man of
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sense should do。”
As they walk along； Mr Snagsby observes； as a novelty； that；
however quick their pace may be； his companion still seems in
some undefinable manner to lurk and lounge； also； that whenev
