“And this is all?” said Monks, after a close and eager scrutiny of the contents of the little packet.
“All,” replied the woman.
Mr. Bumble drew a long breath, as if he were glad to find that the story was over, and no mention made of taking the five-and-twenty pounds back again; and now he took courage to wipe the perspiration which had been trickling over his nose, unchecked, during the whole of the previous dialogue.
“I know nothing of the story, beyond what I can guess at,” said his wife, addressing Monks after a short silence; “and I want to know nothing; for it’s safer not. But I may ask you two questions, may I?”
“You may ask,” said Monks, with some show of surprise; “but whether I answer or not is another question.”
“—Which makes three,” observed Mr. Bumble, essaying a stroke of facetiousness.
“Is that what you expected to get from me?” demanded the matron.
“It is,” replied Monks. “The other question?”
“What do you propose to do with it? Can it be used against me?”
“Never,” rejoined Monks; “nor against me either. See here! But don’t move a step forward, or your life is not worth a bulrush.”
With these words, he suddenly wheeled the table aside, and pulling an iron ring in the boarding, threw back a large trapdoor which opened close at Mr. Bumble’s feet, and caused that gentleman to retire several paces backward, with great precipitation.