‘Very well,’ returned Miss Brass. ‘My brother and I are just the same. I can take any instructions, or give you any advice.’
‘As there are other parties interested besides myself,’ said the single gentleman, rising and opening the door of an inner room, ‘we had better confer together. Miss Brass is here, gentlemen.’
Mr Garland and the Notary walked in, looking very grave; and, drawing up two chairs, one on each side of the single gentleman, formed a kind of fence round the gentle Sarah, and penned her into a corner. Her brother Sampson under such circumstances would certainly have evinced some confusion or anxiety, but she—all composure—pulled out the tin box, and calmly took a pinch of snuff.
‘Miss Brass,’ said the Notary, taking the word at this crisis, ‘we professional people understand each other, and, when we choose, can say what we have to say, in very few words. You advertised a runaway servant, the other day?’
‘Well,’ returned Miss Sally, with a sudden flush overspreading her features, ‘what of that?’
‘She is found, ma’am,’ said the Notary, pulling out his pocket-handkerchief with a flourish. ‘She is found.’
‘Who found her?’ demanded Sarah hastily.
‘We did, ma’am—we three. Only last night, or you would have heard from us before.’
‘And now I have heard from you,’ said Miss Brass, folding her arms as though she were about to deny something to the death, ‘what have you got to say? Something you have got into your heads about her, of course. Prove it, will you—that’s all. Prove it. You have found her, you say. I can tell you (if you don’t know it) that you have found the most artful, lying, pilfering, devilish little minx that was ever born.—Have you got her here?’ she added, looking sharply round.
‘No, she is not here at present,’ returned the Notary. ‘But she is quite safe.’