"And you don't feel tired now?"
"Not a bit, yer honour."
"Then," I said, "I want to explain to you a few things that must have appeared strange."
Accordingly I told him of Voltaire's influence over me, and what came out of it.
"Why, sur," said Simon, when I had finished, "that 'ere willain must be wuss nor a hinfidel; he must be the Old Nick in the garret. And do you mean to say, sur, that that 'ere beautiful Miss Forrest, who I've put down for you, is goin' to git married to that 'ere somnamblifyin' waccinatin' willain, if his dutiful mate ain't a found before Christmas Eve?"
"Only nine days, Simon."
"But it mustn't be, yer honour."
"So I say, Simon; and that's why I've sent for you."
"But I can't do nothink much, sur. All my wits hev bin waccinated away, and my blood is puddled like, which hev affected the workin' o' my brains; and, you see, all your detective chaps have failed."
"But I shan't fail, if you'll help me."