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compound of man and woman, no limbs, wheels, rusty screw, grimness, and

gaiters, so completely stupefied Mr Dorrit, that he was a spectacle to

be pitied. 'But I would not detain you one moment longer,' said Flora,

upon whom his condition wrought its effect, though she was quite

unconscious of having produced it, 'if you would have the goodness to

give your promise as a gentleman that both in going back to Italy and

in Italy too you would look for this Mr Blandois high and low and if

you found or heard of him make him come forward for the clearing of

all parties.' By that time Mr Dorrit had so far recovered from his

bewilderment, as to be able to say, in a tolerably connected manner,

that he should consider that his duty. Flora was delighted with her

success, and rose to take her leave.

'With a million thanks,' said she, 'and my address upon my card in case

of anything to be communicated personally, I will not send my love to

the dear little thing for it might not be acceptable, and indeed there

is no dear little thing left in the transformation so why do it but

both myself and Mr F.'s Aunt ever wish her well and lay no claim to any

favour on our side you may be sure of that but quite the other way for

what she undertook to do she did and that is more than a great many of

us do, not to say anything of her doing it as Well as it could be

done and I myself am one of them for I have said ever since I began to

recover the blow of Mr F's death that I would learn the Organ of which

I am extremely fond but of which I am ashamed to say I do not yet know a

note, good evening!'

When Mr Dorrit, who attended her to the room-door, had had a little time

to collect his senses, he found that the interview had summoned back

discarded reminiscences which jarred with the Merdle dinner-table.

He wrote and sent off a brief note excusing himself for that day, and

ordered dinner presently in his own rooms at the hotel. He had another

reason for this. His time in London was very nearly out, and was

anticipated by engagements; his plans were made for returning; and he

thought it behoved his importance to pursue some direct inquiry into the

Blandois disappearance, and be in a condition to carry back to Mr

Henry Gowan the result of his own personal investigation. He therefore

resolved that he would take advantage of that evening's freedom to go

down to Clennam and Co.'s, easily to be found by the direction set forth

in the handbill; and see the place, and ask a question or two there

himself.

Having dined as plainly as the establishment and the Courier would let

him, and having taken a short sleep by the fire for his better recovery

from Mrs Finching, he set out in a hackney-cabriolet alone. The deep

bell of St Paul's was striking nine as he passed under the shadow of

Temple Bar, headless and forlorn in these degenerate days.

As he approached his destination through the by-streets and water-side

ways, that part of London seemed to him an uglier spot at such an hour

than he had ever supposed it to be. Many long years had passed since he

had seen it; he had never known much of it; and it wore a mysterious and

dismal aspect in his eyes. So powerfully was his imagination impressed

by it, that when his driver stopped, after having asked the way more

than once, and said to the best of his belief this was the gateway they

wanted, Mr Dorrit stood hesitating, with the coach-door in his hand,

half afraid of the dark look of the place.

Truly, it looked as gloomy that night as even it had ever looked. Two of

the handbills were posted on the entrance wall, one on either side, and

as the lamp flickered in the night air, shadows passed over them, not

unlike the shadows of fingers following the lines. A watch was evidently

kept upon the place. As Mr Dorrit paused, a man passed in from over the

way, and another man passed out from some dark corner within; and both

looked at him in passing, and both remained standing about.

As there was only one house in the enclosure, there was no room for

uncertainty, so he went up the steps of that house and knocked. There

was a dim light in two windows on the first-floor. The door gave back

a dreary, vacant sound, as though the house were empty; but it was not,

for a light was visible, and a step was audible, almost directly. They

both came to the door, and a chain grated, and a woman with her apron

thrown over her face and head stood in the aperture.

'Who is it?' said the woman.

Mr Dorrit, much amazed by this appearance, replied that he was from

Italy, and that he wished to ask a question relative to the missing

person, whom he knew.

'Hi!' cried the woman, raising a cracked voice. 'Jeremiah!'

Upon this, a dry old man appeared, whom Mr Dorrit thought he identified

by his gaiters, as the rusty screw. The woman was Under apprehensions

of the dry old man, for she whisked her apron away as he approached, and

disclosed a pale affrighted face. 'Open the door, you fool,' said the

old man; 'and let the gentleman in.'

Mr Dorrit, not without a glance over his shoulder towards his driver and

the cabriolet, walked into the dim hall. 'Now, sir,' said Mr Flintwinch,

'you can ask anything here you think proper; there are no secrets here,

sir.'

Before a reply could be made, a strong stern voice, though a woman's,

called from above, 'Who is it?'

'Who is it?' returned Jeremiah. 'More inquiries. A gentleman from

Italy.'

'Bring him up here!'

Mr Flintwinch muttered, as if he deemed that unnecessary; but, turning

to Mr Dorrit, said, 'Mrs Clennam. She will do as she likes. I'll show

you the way.' He then preceded Mr Dorrit up the blackened staircase;

that gentleman, not unnaturally looking behind him on the road, saw the

woman following, with her apron thrown over her head again in her former

ghastly manner.

Mrs Clennam had her books open on her little table. 'Oh!' said she

abruptly, as she eyed her visitor with a steady look. 'You are from

Italy, sir, are you. Well?' Mr Dorrit was at a loss for any more

distinct rejoinder at the moment than 'Ha--well?'

'Where is this missing man? Have you come to give us information where

he is? I hope you have?'

'So far from it, I--hum--have come to seek information.' 'Unfortunately

for us, there is none to be got here. Flintwinch, show the gentleman the

handbill. Give him several to take away. Hold the light for him to read

it.'

Mr Flintwinch did as he was directed, and Mr Dorrit read it through,

as if he had not previously seen it; glad enough of the opportunity of

collecting his presence of mind, which the air of the house and of the

people in it had a little disturbed. While his eyes were on the paper,

he felt that the eyes of Mr Flintwinch and of Mrs Clennam were on him.

He found, when he looked up, that this sensation was not a fanciful one.

'Now you know as much,' said Mrs Clennam, 'as we know, sir. Is Mr

Blandois a friend of yours?'

'No--a--hum--an acquaintance,' answered Mr Dorrit.

'You have no commission from him, perhaps?'

'I? Ha. Certainly not.'

The searching look turned gradually to the floor, after taking Mr

Flintwinch's face in its way. Mr Dorrit, discomfited by finding that

he was the questioned instead of the questioner, applied himself to the

reversal of that unexpected order of things.

'I am--ha--a gentleman of property, at present residing in Italy with my

family, my servants, and--hum--my rather large establishment. Being in

London for a short time on affairs connected with--ha--my estate,

and hearing of this strange disappearance, I wished to make myself

acquainted with the circumstances at first-hand, because there is--ha

hum--an English gentleman in Italy whom I shall no doubt see on my

return, who has been in habits of close and daily intimacy with Monsieur

Blandois. Mr Henry Gowan. You may know the name.'

'Never heard of it.' Mrs Clennam said it, and Mr Flintwinch echoed it.

'Wishing to--ha--make the narrative coherent and consecutive to him,'

said Mr Dorrit, 'may I ask--say, three questions?'

'Thirty, if you choose.'

'Have you known Monsieur Blandois long?'

'Not a twelvemonth. Mr Flintwinch here, will refer to the books and tell

you when, and by whom at Paris he was introduced to us. If that,'

Mrs Clennam added, 'should be any satisfaction to you. It is poor

satisfaction to us.'

'Have you seen him often?'

'No. Twice. Once before, and--' 'That once,' suggested Mr Flintwinch.

'And that once.'

'Pray, madam,' said Mr Dorrit, with a growing fancy upon him as he

recovered his importance, that he was in some superior way in the

Commission of the Peace; 'pray, madam, may I inquire, for the greater

satisfaction of the gentleman whom I have the honour to--ha--retain, or

protect or let me say to--hum--know--to know--Was Monsieur Blandois here

on business on the night indicated in this present sheet?'

'On what he called business,' returned Mrs Clennam.

'Is--ha--excuse me--is its nature to be communicated?'

'No.'

It was evidently impracticable to pass the barrier of that reply.

'The question has been asked before,' said Mrs Clennam, 'and the answer

has been, No. We don't choose to publish our transactions, however

unimportant, to all the town. We say, No.'

'I mean, he took away no money with him, for example,' said Mr Dorrit.

'He took away none of ours, sir, and got none here.'

'I suppose,' observed Mr Dorrit, glancing from Mrs Clennam to Mr

Flintwinch, and from Mr Flintwinch to Mrs Clennam, 'you have no way of

accounting to yourself for this mystery?'

'Why do you suppose so?' rejoined Mrs Clennam.

Disconcerted by the cold and hard inquiry, Mr Dorrit was unable to

assign any reason for his supposing so.

'I account for it, sir,' she pursued after an awkward silence on Mr

Dorrit's part, 'by having no doubt that he is travelling somewhere, or

hiding somewhere.'

'Do you know--ha--why he should hide anywhere?'

'No.'

It was exactly the same No as before, and put another barrier up. 'You

asked me if I accounted for the disappearance to myself,' Mrs Clennam

sternly reminded him, 'not if I accounted for it to you. I do not

pretend to account for it to you, sir. I understand it to be no more my

business to do that, than it is yours to require that.'

Mr Dorrit answered with an apologetic bend of his head. As he stepped

back, preparatory to saying he had no more to ask, he could not but

observe how gloomily and fixedly she sat with her eyes fastened on

the ground, and a certain air upon her of resolute waiting; also,

how exactly the self-same expression was reflected in Mr Flintwinch,

standing at a little distance from her chair, with his eyes also on the

ground, and his right hand softly rubbing his chin.

At that moment, Mistress Affery (of course, the woman with the apron)

dropped the candlestick she held, and cried out, 'There! O good Lord!

there it is again. Hark, Jeremiah! Now!'

If there were any sound at all, it was so slight that she must have

fallen into a confirmed habit of listening for sounds; but Mr Dorrit

believed he did hear a something, like the falling of dry leaves. The

woman's terror, for a very short space, seemed to touch the three; and

they all listened.

Mr Flintwinch was the first to stir. 'Affery, my woman,' said he,

sidling at her with his fists clenched, and his elbows quivering with

impatience to shake her, 'you are at your old tricks. You'll be walking

in your sleep next, my woman, and playing the whole round of your

distempered antics. You must have some physic. When I have shown this

gentleman out, I'll make you up such a comfortable dose, my woman; such

a comfortable dose!'

It did not appear altogether comfortable in expectation to Mistress

Affery; but Jeremiah, without further reference to his healing medicine,

took another candle from Mrs Clennam's table, and said, 'Now, sir; shall

I light you down?'

Mr Dorrit professed himself obliged, and went down. Mr Flintwinch shut

him out, and chained him out, without a moment's loss of time.

He was again passed by the two men, one going out and the other coming

in; got into the vehicle he had left waiting, and was driven away.

Before he had gone far, the driver stopped to let him know that he

had given his name, number, and address to the two men, on their joint

requisition; and also the address at which he had taken Mr Dorrit up,

the hour at which he had been called from his stand and the way by which

he had come. This did not make the night's adventure run any less hotly

in Mr Dorrit's mind, either when he sat down by his fire again, or

when he went to bed. All night he haunted the dismal house, saw the two

people resolutely waiting, heard the woman with her apron over her face

cry out about the noise, and found the body of the missing Blandois, now

buried in the cellar, and now bricked up in a wall.

CHAPTER 18. A Castle in the Air

Manifold are the cares of wealth and state. Mr Dorrit's satisfaction in

remembering that it had not been necessary for him to announce himself

to Clennam and Co., or to make an allusion to his having had any

knowledge of the intrusive person of that name, had been damped

over-night, while it was still fresh, by a debate that arose within him

whether or no he should take the Marshalsea in his way back, and look

at the old gate. He had decided not to do so; and had astonished the

coachman by being very fierce with him for proposing to go over London

Bridge and recross the river by Waterloo Bridge--a course which would