In this happy flow of spirits, Mr Quilp reached Tower Hill, when,
gazing up at the window of his own sitting-room, he thought he
descried more light than is usual in a house of mourning. Drawing
nearer, and listening attentively, he could hear several voices in
earnest conversation, among which he could distinguish, not only
those of his wife and mother-in-law, but the tongues of men.
'Ha!' cried the jealous dwarf, 'What's this! Do they entertain
visitors while I'm away!'
A smothered cough from above, was the reply. He felt in his
pockets for his latch-key, but had forgotten it. There was no
resource but to knock at the door.
'A light in the passage,' said Quilp, peeping through the keyhole.
'A very soft knock; and, by your leave, my lady, I may yet steal
upon you unawares. Soho!'
A very low and gentle rap received no answer from within. But
after a second application to the knocker, no louder than the
first, the door was softly opened by the boy from the wharf, whom
Quilp instantly gagged with one hand, and dragged into the street
with the other.
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