"The best fellow in the world," I replied.
"Then this is just w'ere I come in!" exclaimed the strange little creature. "I was born for this 'ere!"
I shook hands with her solemnly on the dark and grimy staircase; and I blessed and thanked her. Then I opened the door, and went into the room, praying hard for strength to control myself. Dawkins was sitting on the edge of the table, swinging one leg, and smoking a cigar; he did not trouble to look round as I entered, probably from the fact that he felt that only one person could come into that room with any assurance.
"Well, Fanshawe, it's taken you long enough to get to London," he said, flicking the ash from his cigar.
"I beg your pardon," I said, "but it's not Mr. Fanshawe."
He jumped off the table, and leant against it, staring at me; I think it was the first time I had seen his face without a smile upon it. "By George!" he exclaimed, in a low voice—"I thought I'd tied you up better than that!"
"I was so fortunate as to get away," I replied. "I have seen my—my master, Mr. Olivant; he knows all about my escape. I have just left him."
"Then perhaps you've brought something for me from him?" he exclaimed eagerly, with his habitual smile breaking over his face.
I shook my head. "Nothing," I said. "I did not expect even to find you here."