"
"What in the world do you mean? Who was she?"
"Well, d'ye 'appen to know a young woman name of Nancy Price, sir?"
"No!"
"And yet you've 'ad same in your arms, Mr. Werricker, sir."
"What the devil are you suggesting?" I demanded angrily.
"I suggest as you found same young woman in a vood at midnight and
carried 'er to a inn called the 'Soaring Lark.'"
"Good heavens!" I exclaimed. "That unfortunate creature?"
"That werry same i-dentical, sir--a wictim o' wiciousness as your late
lamented uncle, Sir Jervas, God bless 'im--amen!--saved from des'prit
courses--"
"My uncle Jervas--" I exclaimed.
"Saved from des'prit courses!" repeated Mr. Shrig. "Himself, sir. Lord
love him, 'e was always a-doin' of it; many a pore soul, male and
female, 'e's saved from the river--ah, and worse as well, I
know--ekally ready wi' fist or purse, ah, by Goles, an' vat vas
better, with 'ope for the 'elpless an' 'elp for them as it seemed
nothin' nor nobody could reach 'cept the law--a friend to them as
thought they 'ad no friend but death. A fine gentleman, sir--yes, a
tippy, a go, a bang-up blood, a reg'lar 'eavy-toddler, but most of
all--a man! And I says again, God bless 'im an' 'is memory--amen!"
"Amen!" I repeated, while Mr. Shrig, tugging at something in the
depths of a capacious side pocket, eventually drew thence a large,
vivid-hued handkerchief and blew his nose resoundingly; which done, he
blinked at me, surely the mildest-seeming man in all the world,
despite the brass-mounted pistol which, disturbed in its lurking place
by the sudden extrication of the handkerchief, peeped at me grimly
from his pocket.
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