“This watching of me at my chambers (which I have once had reason to suspect),” I said to Wemmick when he came back, “is inseparable from the person to whom you have adverted; is it?”

Wemmick looked very serious.  “I couldn’t undertake to say that, of my own knowledge.  I mean, I couldn’t undertake to say it was at first.  But it either is, or it will be, or it’s in great danger of being.”

As I saw that he was restrained by fealty to Little Britain from saying as much as he could, and as I knew with thankfulness to him how far out of his way he went to say what he did, I could not press him.  But I told him, after a little meditation over the fire, that I would like to ask him a question, subject to his answering or not answering, as he deemed right, and sure that his course would be right.  He paused in his breakfast, and crossing his arms, and pinching his shirt-sleeves (his notion of indoor comfort was to sit without any coat), he nodded to me once, to put my question.

“You have heard of a man of bad character, whose true name is Compeyson?”

He answered with one other nod.

“Is he living?”

One other nod.

“Is he in London?”

He gave me one other nod, compressed the post-office exceedingly, gave me one last nod, and went on with his breakfast.

“Now,” said Wemmick, “questioning being over;” which he emphasized and repeated for my guidance; “I come to what I did, after hearing what I heard.  I went to Garden Court to find you; not finding you, I went to Clarriker’s to find Mr. Herbert.”

“And him you found?” said I, with great anxiety.

“And him I found.  Without mentioning any names or going into any details, I gave him to understand that if he was aware of anybody — Tom, Jack, or Richard — being about the chambers, or about the immediate neighbourhood, he had better get Tom, Jack, or Richard, out of the way while you were out of the way.”

“He would be greatly puzzled what to do?”

“He was puzzled what to do; not the less, because I gave him my opinion that it was not safe to try to get Tom, Jack, or Richard, too far out of the way at present.  Mr. Pip, I’ll tell you something.  Under existing circumstances there is no place like a great city when you are once in it.  Don’t break cover too soon.  Lie close.  Wait till things slacken, before you try the open, even for foreign air.”

I thanked him for his valuable advice, and asked him what Herbert had done?

“Mr. Herbert,” said Wemmick, “after being all of a heap for half an hour, struck out a plan.  He mentioned to me as a secret, that he is courting a young lady who has, as no doubt you are aware, a bedridden Pa.  Which Pa, having been in the Purser line of life, lies a-bed in a bow-window where he can see the ships sail up and down the river.  You are acquainted with the young lady, most probably?”

“Not personally,” said I.