“A good deal of property here, sir, I should say,” Mr. Guppy observes to Mr. Smallweed.
“Principally rags and rubbish, my dear friend! Rags and rubbish! Me and Bart and my granddaughter Judy are endeavouring to make out an inventory of what’s worth anything to sell. But we haven’t come to much as yet; we—haven’t—come—to—hah!”
Mr. Smallweed has run down again, while Mr. Weevle’s eye, attended by Mr. Guppy’s eye, has again gone round the room and come back.
“Well, sir,” says Mr. Weevle. “We won’t intrude any longer if you’ll allow us to go upstairs.”
“Anywhere, my dear sir, anywhere! You’re at home. Make yourself so, pray!”
As they go upstairs, Mr. Guppy lifts his eyebrows inquiringly and looks at Tony. Tony shakes his head. They find the old room very dull and dismal, with the ashes of the fire that was burning on that memorable night yet in the discoloured grate. They have a great disinclination to touch any object, and carefully blow the dust from it first. Nor are they desirous to prolong their visit, packing the few movables with all possible speed and never speaking above a whisper.
“Look here,” says Tony, recoiling. “Here’s that horrible cat coming in!”
Mr. Guppy retreats behind a chair. “Small told me of her. She went leaping and bounding and tearing about that night like a dragon, and got out on the house-top, and roamed about up there for a fortnight, and then came tumbling down the chimney very thin. Did you ever see such a brute? Looks as if she knew all about it, don’t she? Almost looks as if she was Krook. Shoohoo! Get out, you goblin!”
Lady Jane, in the doorway, with her tiger snarl from ear to ear and her club of a tail, shows no intention of obeying; but Mr. Tulkinghorn stumbling over her, she spits at his rusty legs, and swearing wrathfully, takes her arched back upstairs. Possibly to roam the house-tops again and return by the chimney.
“Mr. Guppy,” says Mr. Tulkinghorn, “could I have a word with you?”