‘I give you my word, Quilp,’ answered his trembling wife, ‘that I have been into every room and there’s not a soul in any of them.’
‘And that,’ said Mr Brass, clapping his hands once, with an emphasis, ‘explains the mystery of the key!’
Quilp looked frowningly at him, and frowningly at his wife, and frowningly at Richard Swiveller; but, receiving no enlightenment from any of them, hurried up stairs, whence he soon hurried down again, confirming the report which had already been made.
‘It’s a strange way of going,’ he said, glancing at Swiveller, ‘very strange not to communicate with me who am such a close and intimate friend of his! Ah! he’ll write to me no doubt, or he’ll bid Nelly write—yes, yes, that’s what he’ll do. Nelly’s very fond of me. Pretty Nell!’
Mr Swiveller looked, as he was, all open-mouthed astonishment. Still glancing furtively at him, Quilp turned to Mr Brass and observed, with assumed carelessness, that this need not interfere with the removal of the goods.
‘For indeed,’ he added, ‘we knew that they’d go away to-day, but not that they’d go so early, or so quietly. But they have their reasons, they have their reasons.’
‘Where in the devil’s name are they gone?’ said the wondering Dick.
Quilp shook his head, and pursed up his lips, in a manner which implied that he knew very well, but was not at liberty to say.
‘And what,’ said Dick, looking at the confusion about him, ‘what do you mean by moving the goods?’
‘That I have bought ‘em, Sir,’ rejoined Quilp. ‘Eh? What then?’