“You call at the Temple late,” he remarked, with a lumbering show of ease.
“Wish I may die,” cried Mr. Riderhood, with a hoarse laugh, “if I warn’t a goin’ to say the selfsame words to you, t’otherest Governor!”
“It chanced so with me,” said Bradley, looking disconcertedly about him.
“And it chanced so with me,” said Riderhood. “But I don’t mind telling you how. Why should I mind telling you? I’m a Deputy Lock-keeper up the river, and I was off duty yes’day, and I shall be on tomorrow.”
“Yes?”
“Yes, and I come to London to look arter my private affairs. My private affairs is to get appinted to the lock as reg’lar keeper at fust hand, and to have the law of a busted B’low-Bridge steamer which drownded of me. I ain’t a goin’ to be drownded and not paid for it!”
Bradley looked at him, as though he were claiming to be a Ghost.
“The steamer,” said Mr. Riderhood, obstinately, “run me down and drownded of me. Interference on the part of other parties brought me round; but I never asked ’em to bring me round, nor yet the steamer never asked ’em to it. I mean to be paid for the life as the steamer took.”
“Was that your business at Mr. Lightwood’s chambers in the middle of the night?” asked Bradley, eyeing him with distrust.
“That and to get a writing to be fust-hand Lock Keeper. A recommendation in writing being looked for, who else ought to give it to me? As I says in the letter in my daughter’s hand, with my mark put to it to make it good in law, Who but you, Lawyer Lightwood, ought to hand