Then and there, on that Marshalsea pavement, in the shades of evening,

did Mr Pancks, of all mankind, fly over the head and shoulders of Mr

Rugg of Pentonville, General Agent, Accountant, and Recoverer of Debts.

Alighting on his feet, he took Clennam by the button-hole, led him

behind the pump, and pantingly produced from his pocket a bundle of

papers. Mr Rugg, also, pantingly produced from his pocket a bundle of

papers.

'Stay!' said Clennam in a whisper.'You have made a discovery.'

Mr Pancks answered, with an unction which there is no language to

convey, 'We rather think so.' 'Does it implicate any one?' 'How implicate, sir?' 'In any suppression or wrong dealing of any kind?'

'Not a bit of it.' 'Thank God!' said Clennam to himself. 'Now show me.' 'You are to

understand'--snorted Pancks, feverishly unfolding papers, and speaking

in short high-pressure blasts of sentences, 'Where's the Pedigree?

Where's Schedule number four, Mr Rugg? Oh! all right! Here we are.--You

are to understand that we are this very day virtually complete. We

shan't be legally for a day or two. Call it at the outside a week. We've

been at it night and day for I don't know how long. Mr Rugg, you know

how long?

Never mind. Don't say. You'll only confuse me. You shall tell

her, Mr Clennam. Not till we give you leave. Where's that rough total,

Mr Rugg? Oh! Here we are! There sir! That's what you'll have to break to

her. That man's your Father of the Marshalsea!'




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