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The Marchioness nodded.

“Ha!” said Mr. Swiveller, with a portentous frown. “‘Tis well. Marchioness!–but no matter. Some wine there, ho! Marchioness, your health.”

The small servant, who was not so well acquainted with theatrical conventionalities as Mr. Swiveller, was rather alarmed by his manner, and showed it so plainly that he felt it necessary to discharge his brigand bearing for one more suitable to private life.

“I suppose,” said Dick, “that they consult together a good deal, and talk about a great many people–about me, for instance, sometimes, eh, Marchioness?”

The Marchioness nodded amazingly.

“Complimentary?” asked Mr. Swiveller.

The Marchioness shook her head violently.

“H’m!” Dick muttered. “Would it be any breach of confidence, Marchioness, to relate what they say of the humble individual who has now the honor to–?”

“Miss Sally says you are a funny chap,” replied his friend.

“Well, Marchioness,” said Mr. Swiveller, “that’s not uncomplimentary. Merriment, Marchioness, is not a bad of a degrading quality. Old King Cole was himself a merry old soul, if we may put any faith in the pages of history.”

“But she says,” pursued his companion, “that you aren’t to be trusted.”

“Why, really, Marchioness,” said Mr. Swiveller thoughtfully, “it’s a popular prejudice, and yet I’m sure I don’t know why, for I’ve been trusted in my time to a considerable amount, and I can safely say that I never forsook my trust, until it deserted me–never. Mr. Brass is of the same opinion, I suppose?”

His friend nodded again, adding imploringly, “But don’t you ever tell upon me, or I shall be beat to death.”

“Marchioness,” said Mr. Swiveller, rising, “the word of a gentleman is as good as his bond–sometimes better, as in the present case, where his bond might prove but a doubtful sort of security. I’m your friend, and I hope we shall play many more rubbers together. But, Marchioness,” added Richard, “it occurs to me that you must be in the constant habit of airing your eye at keyholes to know this.”

“I only wanted,” replied the trembling Marchioness, “to know where the key of the meat-safe was hid–that was all; and I wouldn’t have taken much if I had found it–only enough to squench my hunger.”

“You didn’t find it, then?” said Dick, “but, of course, you didn’t, or of course you’d be plumper. Good-night, Marchioness, fare thee well, and if forever, then forever fare thee well. And put up the chain, Marchioness, in case of accidents!”

Upon repairing to Bevis Marks on the following morning, he found Miss Brass much agitated over the disappearance from the office of several small articles, as well as three half crowns, and Richard felt much troubled over the matter, saying to himself, “Then, by Jove, I’m afraid the Marchioness is done for!”

The more he discussed the subject in his thoughts, the more probable it appeared to Dick that the miserable little servant was the culprit. When he considered on what a spare allowance of food she lived, how neglected and untaught she was, and how her natural cunning had been sharpened by necessity and privation, he scarcely doubted it. And yet he pitied her so much, and felt so unwilling to have a matter of such gravity disturbing the oddity of their acquaintance, that he thought, rather than receive fifty pounds down, he would have the Marchioness proved innocent.

While the subject of the thefts was under discussion, Kit Nubbles, a lad in the employ of a Mr. Garland, passed through the office, on his way upstairs to the room of the Brasses’ lodger, the single gentleman, who was an intimate friend of Kit’s employer. The single gentleman having been confined to his room for some time by a slight illness, it had become Kit’s daily custom to convey to him messages and notes from Mr. Garland, and not infrequently Sampson Brass would detain the lad in the office for a few words of pleasant conversation.

Having discharged his errand, Kit came downstairs again, finding no one in the office except Mr. Brass, who, after greeting him affably, requested him to mind the office for one minute while he ran upstairs. Mr. Brass returned almost immediately, Mr. Swiveller came in too, at the same instant, likewise Miss Sally, and Kit, released, at once set off on a run towards home, eager to make up for lost time. As he was running, he was suddenly arrested and held in restraint, by no less a person than Sampson Brass himself, accompanied by Mr. Swiveller.