CHAPTER XI.

ONE morning I was engaged in the principal workroom with my employer.  We were alone.  Old File and his son were occupied in the garrets.  Screw had been sent to Barkingham, accompanied, on the usual precautionary plan, by Mill.  They had been gone nearly an hour when the doctor sent me into the next room to moisten and knead up some plaster of Paris.  While I was engaged in this occupation, I suddenly heard strange voices in the large workroom.  My curiosity was instantly excited.  I drew back the little shutter from the peephole in the wall, and looked through it.

I saw first my old enemy, Screw, with his villainous face much paler than usual; next, two respectably-dressed strangers whom he appeared to have brought into the room; and next to them Young File, addressing himself to the doctor.

“I beg your pardon, sir,” said my friend, the workman-like footman; “but before these gentlemen say anything for themselves, I wish to explain, as they seem strangers to you, that I only let them in after I had heard them give the password.  My instructions are to let anybody in on our side of the door if they can give the password.  No offense, sir, but I want it to be understood that I have done my duty.”

“Quite right, my man,” said the doctor, in his blandest manner.  “You may go back to your work.”

Young File left the room, with a scrutinizing look for the two strangers and a suspicious frown for Screw.

“Allow us to introduce ourselves,” began the elder of the two strangers.

“Pardon me for a moment,” interposed the doctor.  “Where is Mill?” he added, turning to Screw.

“Doing our errands at Barkingham,” answered Screw, turning paler than ever.

“We happened to meet your two men, and to ask them the way to your house,” said the stranger who had just spoken.  “This man, with a caution that does him infinite credit, required to know our business before he told us.  We managed to introduce the password—­’Happy-go-lucky’—­into our answer.  This of course quieted suspicion; and he, at our request, guided us here, leaving his fellow-workman, as he has just told you, to do all errands at Barkingham.”

While these words were being spoken, I saw Screw’s eyes wandering discontentedly and amazedly round the room.  He had left me in it with the doctor before he went out:  was he disappointed at not finding me in it on his return?

While this thought was passing through my mind, the stranger resumed his explanations.

“We are here,” he said, “as agents appointed to transact private business, out of London, for Mr. Manasseh, with whom you have dealings, I think?”

“Certainly,” said the doctor, with a smile.

“And who owes you a little account, which we are appointed to settle.”

“Just so!” remarked the doctor, pleasantly rubbing his hands one over the other.  “My good friend, Mr. Manasseh, does not like to trust the post, I suppose?  Very glad to make your acquaintance, gentlemen.  Have you got the little memorandum about you?”