"Ah!" said the little old man; "deary me! yes!" and then he seated himself on the edge of a wine-hamper, and began to count his fingers with great interest, as though not quite sure of the number he really possessed.
"Mr. Scadgers!" said Pringle, after a minute or two.
"Ah, yes! I'll call him," said the little old man, and rang a bell which lurked in the corner of the chimney-piece.
A great creaking of uncarpeted stairs under heavy boots followed this bell-ringing, and presently Mr. Scadgers entered the room. Mr. Scadgers' appearance partook of the charming amenities of the prize-fighter and the undertaker: his hair was black and close-cropped, his face white, his nose red, one eye was considerably larger than the other, and one corner of his mouth had a peculiar upward twist. He was dressed in black, with a pair of dull leather boots reaching half-way up his thighs; and as he came through the door, he took a red silk pocket-handkerchief from the crown of his hat, and mopped his head.
"Servant, sir!" said Mr. Scadgers, surveying Mr. Pringle with his gleaming black eyes, and reckoning him up in a moment. "What may you want?"
"Well," said Mr. Pringle, "I wanted a few minutes' conversation; but private, if you please--"
"Oh!" interrupted Mr. Scadgers, "don't mind Jinks; he's safe enough--knows all my affairs--thoroughly to be trusted."
"Well, then," said Mr. Pringle, hesitating; then, with a desperate rush, "look here!--fact is--want money!"
"Ah!" said Mr. Scadgers, with something like admiration in his tone, "got it out with a rush, didn't you? That's the only way! Who told you to come to me?"
"Mr. Rittman, of the--"