“‘There’s no necessity for you to trouble yourself about my features!’ I exclaimed, opening the door—‘good night.’
“‘Stop, stop, my dear sir! and don’t be offended. It was all a mistake. All Isaac’s mistake, upon my honour.’
“‘All a mistake,’ echoed young Isaac.
“My curiosity was excited, and, besides, I really wanted the offices; and I therefore allowed myself to be persuaded into mounting the narrow staircase, until we faced a door bearing the name of Brunton on it in white letters, and having the two upper panels glazed, more, I should imagine, to supply light to the staircase than for admission of light to the office.
“Mr. Moss produced a key, and turning to me with a good-natured smile, said: ‘I’d have sworn you were Brunton five minutes ago, but I’m sure now that I was wrong. Carl always swore when he came upstairs, and you haven’t. It’s Brunton’s face all but the eyes, and I’d swear to the eyes anywhere. That is, to the twinkle of ’em, you know.’
“And he unlocked the door and invited me within.
“Walking to the table on which he had placed the light, I took a chair and produced my pocket-book.
“‘Before we go further, Mr. Moss, let us quite understand each other, I have no wish to derive any benefits from any virtues Mr. Brunton may possess; and I am going to convince you that I am what I represent myself to be. Be good enough to read that letter.’
“It was from a merchant in the North, only received that morning, and mentioned circumstances which were sufficient to settle any doubts as to my identity.
“Mr. Moss read it, folded it up briskly, and presented it to me with a bow.