“What do you want done?”
“I will tell you what must be done,” said Traddles.
“Has that Copperfield no tongue?” muttered Uriah, “I would do a good deal for you if you could tell me, without lying, that somebody had cut it out.”
“My Uriah means to be ’umble!” cried his mother. “Don’t mind what he says, good gentlemen!”
“What must be done,” said Traddles, “is this. First, the deed of relinquishment, that we have heard of, must be given over to me now—here.”
“Suppose I haven’t got it,” he interrupted.
“But you have,” said Traddles; “therefore, you know, we won’t suppose so.” And I cannot help avowing that this was the first occasion on which I really did justice to the clear head, and the plain, patient, practical good sense, of my old schoolfellow. “Then,” said Traddles, “you must prepare to disgorge all that your rapacity has become possessed of, and to make restoration to the last farthing. All the partnership books and papers must remain in our possession; all your books and papers; all money accounts and securities, of both kinds. In short, everything here.”
“Must it? I don’t know that,” said Uriah. “I must have time to think about that.”
“Certainly,” replied Traddles; “but, in the meanwhile, and until everything is done to our satisfaction, we shall maintain possession of these things; and beg you—in short, compel you—to keep to your own room, and hold no communication with anyone.”
“I won’t do it!” said Uriah, with an oath.