“No!” I ejaculated.

“Yes, doctors,” replied Simmons. “‘Drive me,’ she says, ’to Messrs. Scott and Brown, Gray’s-Inn Road.’  Of course I knew the name again; I was vexed enough the last time I were there, at showing myself so green.  I looks hard at her.  A very fine make of a woman, with hair and eyes as black as coals, and a impudent look on her face somehow.  I turned it over and over again in my head, driving her there—­could there be any reason in it? or had it any thing to do with last time? and cetera.  She told me to wait for her in the street; and directly after she goes in, there comes down the gent I had seen before, with a pen behind his ear.  He looks very hard at me, and me at him.  Says he, ’I think I have seen your face before, my man.’  Very civil; as civil as a orange, as folks say.  ‘I think you have,’ I says.  ’Could you step up-stairs for a minute or two?’ says he, very polite; ’I’ll find a boy to take charge of your horse.’  And he slips a arf-crown into my hand, quite pleasant.”

“So you went in, of course?” said Jack.

“Doctors,” he answered, solemnly, “I did go in.  There’s nothing to be said against that.  The lady is sitting in a orfice up-stairs, talking to another gent, with hair and eyes like hers, as black as coals, and the same look of brass on his face.  All three of ’em looked a little under the weather.  ‘What’s your name, my man?’ asked the black gent.  ‘Walker,’ I says.  ‘And where do you live?’ he says, taking me serious.  ’In Queer Street,’ I says, with a little wink to show ’em I were up to a trick or two.  They all three larfed a little among themselves, but not in a pleasant sort of way.  Then the gent begins again.  ‘My good fellow,’ he says, ’we want you to give us a little information that ’ud be of use to us, and we are willing to pay you handsome for it.  It can’t do you any harm, nor nobody else, for it’s only a matter of business.  You’re not above taking ten shillings for a bit of useful information?’ ’Not by no manner of means.’  I says.”

“Go on,” I said, impatiently, as Simmons paused to look as hard at us as he had done at these people.

“Jest so doctors,” he continued, “but this time I was minding my P’s and Q’s.  ‘You know Dr. Senior, of Brook Street?’ he says.  ‘The old doctor?’ I says; ‘he’s retired out of town.’  ‘No,’ he says, ’nor the young doctor neither; but there’s another of ’em isn’t there?’ ‘Dr. Dobry?’ I says.  ‘Yes,’ he says, ‘he often takes your cab, my friend?’ ’First one and then the other,’ I says, ’sometimes Dr. John and sometimes Dr. Dobry.  They’re as thick as brothers, and thicker.’  ‘Good friends of yours?’ he says.  ‘Well,’ says I, ’they take my cab when they can have it; but there’s not much friendship, as I see, in that.  It’s the best cab and horse on the stand, though I say it, as shouldn’t.  Dr. John’s pretty fair, but the other’s no great favorite of mine.’  ‘Ah!’ he says.”

Simmons’s face was illuminated with delight, and he winked sportively at us.