Page 1086 - bleak-house

‘Husband a law-stationer and a friend of my own,’ says
Mr. Bucket. ‘Love him like a brother! Now, what’s up?’
‘Do you mean what business have we come upon?’ Mr.
Smallweed asks, a little dashed by the suddenness of this
turn.
‘Ah! You know what I mean. Let us hear what it’s all about
in presence of Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet. Come.’
Mr. Smallweed, beckoning Mr. Chadband, takes a mo-
ment’s counsel with him in a whisper. Mr. Chadband,
expressing a considerable amount of oil from the pores of
his forehead and the palms of his hands, says aloud, ‘Yes.
You first!’ and retires to his former place.
‘I was the client and friend of Mr. Tulkinghorn,’ pipes
Grandfather Smallweed then; ‘I did business with him. I
was useful to him, and he was useful to me. Krook, dead
and gone, was my brother-in-law. He was own brother to
a brimstone magpie—leastways Mrs. Smallweed. I come
into Krook’s property. I examined all his papers and all
his effects. They was all dug out under my eyes. There was
a bundle of letters belonging to a dead and gone lodger as
was hid away at the back of a shelf in the side of Lady Jane’s
bed—his cat’s bed. He hid all manner of things away, ev-
erywheres. Mr. Tulkinghorn wanted ‘em and got ‘em, but
I looked ‘em over first. I’m a man of business, and I took a
squint at ‘em. They was letters from the lodger’s sweetheart,
and she signed Honoria. Dear me, that’s not a common
name, Honoria, is it? There’s no lady in this house that signs
Honoria is there? Oh, no, I don’t think so! Oh, no, I don’t
think so! And not in the same hand, perhaps? Oh, no, I

1086 Bleak House