"Pshaw!" cried Mr. Winkworth, laughing: "pull the rope that's hanging there. I forgot that you had not been long caught."
The bell was soon rung, and a sheet of large cartridge-paper procured, in which the old gentleman made the boy fold up carefully the various documents he had brought, as the wound in his shoulder prevented him from doing so himself. This packing up was very neatly accomplished by Jim; but when it came to the sealing, notwithstanding all the good instructions of Mr. Winkworth, who stood by with a seal ready to press upon the wax, the poor boy made a sad mess of it, and burned his fingers awfully.
"Never mind, Jim; never mind," said Mr. Winkworth. "In my young days, when people were in the habit of walking the bounds of the parish, the officers used to whip one of the boys of the charity-school at every point which might become doubtful, in order that the tail might help the head to recollect. Now, your fingers will put you in mind of this sealing in case of need. However, there are two or three other things to be thought of. Have you found out where they have taken her to?"
"Yes, sir," answered the boy. "The last driver I talked to told me that the gentleman had ordered him to go to a house with barred-up windows.--Stay! I wrote down the name of the place on a bit of paper."
Mr. Winkworth eagerly examined the address the boy produced.
"Brooke Green," he said; "Brooke Green. That's not far. I've a great mind to go there at once. Hang the doctors! who cares what they say? I'll go. Ring the bell, Jim."
The bell was rung once more, and the waiter ordered to have a pair of post-horses put immediately to Mr. Charles Marston's carriage; for Mr. Winkworth did not stand upon any great ceremony with his young friend.
"Now take this boy down and give him something to eat," continued Mr. Winkworth.
"Yes, sir," said the waiter.
"You're a respectable man, I think?" said the old gentleman.