“This family, sir, is called Dalton, and not even a stutter can make that Dawkins.”
“Couldn't your friend Mr. Foglass find out something about these Daltons for us, as he goes through Germany?” asked Mrs. Ricketts of the Colonel.
“No one could execute such a commission better, madam, only you must give him his instructions in writing. Foglass,” added he, at the top of his voice, “let me have your note-book for a moment.”
“With pleasure,” said he, presenting his snuff-box.
“No; your memorandum-book,” screamed the other, louder.
“It's gone down,” whispered the deaf man. “I lost the key on Tuesday last.”
“Not your watch, man. I want to write a line in your note-book;” and he made a pantomimic of writing.
“Yes, certainly; if Mrs. R. will permit, I'll write to her with pleasure.”
“Confound him!” muttered Haggerstone; and, taking up a visiting-card, he wrote on the back of it, “Could you trace the Daltons as you go back by Baden?”
The deaf man at once brightened up; a look of shrewd intelligence lighted up his fishy eyes as he said,