Riah shook his head, and Fledgeby cast his small eyes down the list. They presently began to twinkle, and he no sooner became conscious of their twinkling, than he looked up over his shoulder at the grave face above him, and moved to the chimneypiece. Making a desk of it, he stood there with his back to the old man, warming his knees, perusing the list at his leisure, and often returning to some lines of it, as though they were particularly interesting. At those times he glanced in the chimney-glass to see what note the old man took of him. He took none that could be detected, but, aware of his employer’s suspicions, stood with his eyes on the ground.

Mr. Fledgeby was thus amiably engaged when a step was heard at the outer door, and the door was heard to open hastily. “Hark! That’s your doing, you Pump of Israel,” said Fledgeby; “you can’t have shut it.” Then the step was heard within, and the voice of Mr. Alfred Lammle called aloud, “Are you anywhere here, Fledgeby?” To which Fledgeby, after cautioning Riah in a low voice to take his cue as it should be given him, replied, “Here I am!” and opened his bedroom door.