‘I indited a letter to my master. Yes. To that effect.’
‘And what said Tingling-Tossing-Aching-Screaming-Scratching-Smarter?’ asked Miss Wren with an unspeakable enjoyment in the utterance of those honourable titles and in the recollection of the pepper.
‘He held me to certain months of servitude, which were his lawful term of notice. They expire to-morrow. Upon their expiration—not before—I had meant to set myself right with my Cinderella.’
‘My idea is getting so immense now,’ cried Miss Wren, clasping her temples, ‘that my head won’t hold it! Listen, godmother; I am going to expound. Little Eyes (that’s Screaming-Scratching-Smarter) owes you a heavy grudge for going. Little Eyes casts about how best to pay you off. Little Eyes thinks of Lizzie. Little Eyes says to himself, “I’ll find out where he has placed that girl, and I’ll betray his secret because it’s dear to him.” Perhaps Little Eyes thinks, “I’ll make love to her myself too;” but that I can’t swear—all the rest I can. So, Little Eyes comes to me, and I go to Little Eyes. That’s the way of it. And now the murder’s all out, I’m sorry,’ added the dolls’ dressmaker, rigid from head to foot with energy as she shook her little fist before her eyes, ‘that I didn’t give him Cayenne pepper and chopped pickled Capsicum!’
This expression of regret being but partially intelligible to Mr Riah, the old man reverted to the injuries Fledgeby had received, and hinted at the necessity of his at once going to tend that beaten cur.
‘Godmother, godmother, godmother!’ cried Miss Wren irritably, ‘I really lose all patience with you. One would think you believed in the Good Samaritan. How can you be so inconsistent?’
‘Jenny dear,’ began the old man gently, ‘it is the custom of our people to help—’
‘Oh! Bother your people!’ interposed Miss Wren, with a toss of her head. ‘If your people don’t know better than to go and help Little Eyes, it’s a pity they ever got out of Egypt. Over and above that,’ she added, ‘he wouldn’t take your help if you offered it. Too much ashamed. Wants to keep it close and quiet, and to keep you out of the way.’
They were still debating this point when a shadow darkened the entry, and the glass door was opened by a messenger who brought a letter unceremoniously addressed, ‘Riah.’ To which he said there was an answer wanted.
The letter, which was scrawled in pencil uphill and downhill and round crooked corners, ran thus: