‘Surely,’ cried Quilp, nodding his head. ‘Oh surely, sir. Such an honour and pleasure—it’s both, Christopher’s mother, it’s both—is not to be forgotten so soon. By no means!’
‘You may remember that the day I arrived in London, and found the house to which I drove, empty and deserted, I was directed by some of the neighbours to you, and waited upon you without stopping for rest or refreshment?’
‘How precipitate that was, and yet what an earnest and vigorous measure!’ said Quilp, conferring with himself, in imitation of his friend Mr Sampson Brass.
‘I found,’ said the single gentleman, ‘you most unaccountably, in possession of everything that had so recently belonged to another man, and that other man, who up to the time of your entering upon his property had been looked upon as affluent, reduced to sudden beggary, and driven from house and home.’
‘We had warrant for what we did, my good sir,’ rejoined Quilp, ‘we had our warrant. Don’t say driven either. He went of his own accord—vanished in the night, sir.’
‘No matter,’ said the single gentleman angrily. ‘He was gone.’
‘Yes, he was gone,’ said Quilp, with the same exasperating composure. ‘No doubt he was gone. The only question was, where. And it’s a question still.’
‘Now, what am I to think,’ said the single gentleman, sternly regarding him, ‘of you, who, plainly indisposed to give me any information then—nay, obviously holding back, and sheltering yourself with all kinds of cunning, trickery, and evasion—are dogging my footsteps now?’
‘I dogging!’ cried Quilp.
‘Why, are you not?’ returned his questioner, fretted into a state of the utmost irritation. ‘Were you not a few hours since, sixty miles off, and in the chapel to which this good woman goes to say her prayers?’