indignation from which I have recently suffered have been too much for me. I am subject to—gout;” Sir Leicester was going to say indisposition and would have said it to anybody else, but Mr. Bucket palpably knows all about it; “and recent circumstances have brought it on.”
As he takes his seat with some difficulty and with an air of pain, Mr. Bucket draws a little nearer, standing with one of his large hands on the library-table.
“I am not aware, officer,” Sir Leicester observes; raising his eyes to his face, “whether you wish us to be alone, but that is entirely as you please. If you do, well and good. If not, Miss Dedlock would be interested—”
“Why, Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet,” returns Mr. Bucket with his head persuasively on one side and his forefinger pendant at one ear like an earring, “we can’t be too private just at present. You will presently see that we can’t be too private. A lady, under the circumstances, and especially in Miss Dedlock’s elevated station of society, can’t but be agreeable to me, but speaking without a view to myself, I will take the liberty of assuring you that I know we can’t be too private.”
“That is enough.”
“So much so, Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet,” Mr. Bucket resumes, “that I was on the point of asking your permission to turn the key in the door.”
“By all means.” Mr. Bucket skilfully and softly takes that precaution, stooping on his knee for a moment from mere force of habit so to adjust the key in the lock as that no one shall peep in from the outerside.
“Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet, I mentioned yesterday evening that I wanted but a very little to complete this case. I have now completed it and collected proof against the person who did this crime.”