"It is them," exclaimed Wardle. "By Heavens, we've found them."
"Hush!" said Sam. "The Wellingtons has gone to Doctors' Commons."
"No," said the little man.
"Yes, for a licence."
"We're in time," exclaimed Wardle. "Show us the room; not a moment is to be lost."
Pray, my dear sir—pray," said the little man; "caution. caution." He drew from his pocket a red silk purse, and looked very hard at Sam as he drew out a sovereign. Sam grinned expressively.
"Show us into the room at once, without announcing us," said the little man, "and it's yours."
Sam threw the painted tops into a corner, and led the way through a dark passage, and up a wide staircase. He paused at the end of a second passage, and held out his hand.
"Here it is," whispered the attorney, as he deposited the money in the hand of their guide.
The man stepped forward for a few paces, followed by the two friends and their legal adviser. He stopped at a door.
"Is this the room?" murmured the little gentleman.
Sam nodded assent.
Old Wardle opened the door; and the whole three walked into the room just as Mr. Jingle, who had that moment returned, had produced the licence to the spinster aunt.
The spinster uttered a loud shriek, and, throwing herself in a chair, covered her face with her hands. Mr. Jingle crumpled up the licence, and thrust it into his coat-pocket. The unwelcome visitors advanced into the middle of the room.
"You—you are a nice rascal, arn't vou?" exclaimed Wardle, breathless with passion.
"My dear sir, my dear sir," said the little man, laying his hat on the table. "Pray, consider—pray. Defamation of character: action for damages. Calm yourself, my dear sir, pray—"
