"
Glancing at the door, I saw indeed, to my surprise, that it stood
slightly ajar; hereupon I reached out to open it when it swung wide
and my man Clegg stood before us.
"I saw you approaching, sir," he exclaimed, bowing us in.
Reaching my small library, the officer seated himself at my invitation
and depositing hat and stick very precisely beneath his chair, sat
looking more unctuously mild than ever, there was about him a vague
suggestion of conventicles, and a holy Sabbatarian calm.
"You said your name was Shrig, I think?" said I.
"Jarsper Shrig, sir, at your sarvice."
"Then perhaps, while I write my letter, you will take a glass of wine,
Mr. Shrig?"
"Sir," he answered, "not beating about no bushes, I vill--Mr.
Werricker, sir."
"You know my name?" I exclaimed a little sharply.
"I dedooce same, sir, from them three letters on your secretary as is
a-staring me straight in the face, Mr. Werricker."
"Pray, Anthony, oblige me by ringing the bell!" said I, taking up my
pen.
Soft-treading, the discreet Clegg duly brought in decanter and
glasses, and Mr. Shrig, watching him pour out the wine, drew from his
capacious pocket a little book and opened it, much as though he would
have read forth a text of Scripture, but all he said was:
"Thank 'ee, my man!" and then, as the door closed upon the discreetly
silent Clegg, "Your 'ealth, gen'elmen!"
The letter to my uncle Jervas being written and despatched, I turned
to find Mr.
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