Just as I thus found myself a little satirical perhaps, up comes the man Richardson, who lived in Ashley Buildings.
“It’s not often,” said he, “that folks like me and my wife have lodgers in our small room like yon,” pointing in the direction of my ladies.
“Like whom?” said I.
“Why, did you not see them coming out of our stair?”
“Yes, I saw two ladies superbly dressed; who are they?”
“Just my lodgers; your common lodging-house keepers can’t touch that, I think.”
“Why, no,” said I; “but you haven’t told me who or what they are.”
“That’s a hard question,” replied he; “I can only say they are English, very polite, and pay their score.”
“Any more?” said I; for although I had no doubt of the man’s honesty, I did not wish to be forward with my half-crowns, as a “let up” in the first instance.
“Why, we are not sure of them,” said he. “They are the strangest customers we ever had. They keep their door shut, and every second day there comes to them a man, as much a tailor and jeweller-made swell in his way as they are in theirs. Then the door is still more sure to be locked, and the key-hole screened.”