“What did Jem Spyers say?” inquired the doctor: who had returned to the room shortly after the commencement of the story.
“Jem Spyers,” resumed the officer, “for a long time said nothing at all, and listened to everything without seeming to, which showed he understood his business. But, one morning, he walked into the bar, and taking out his snuffbox, says, “Chickweed, I’ve found out who done this here robbery.’ “Have you?’ said Chickweed. “Oh, my dear Spyers, only let me have wengeance, and I shall die contented! Oh, my Dear Spyers, where is the villain!’ “Come!’ said Spyers, offering him a pinch of snuff, “none of that gammon! You did it yourself.’ So he had; and a good bit of money he had made by it, too; and nobody would never have found it out, if he hadn’t been so precious anxious to keep up appearances!” said Mr. Blathers, putting down his wine-glass, and clinking the handcuffs together.
“Very curious, indeed,” observed the doctor. “Now, if you please, you can walk upstairs.”
“If you please, sir,” returned Mr. Blathers. Closely following Mr. Losberne, the two officers ascended to Oliver’s bedroom; Mr. Giles preceding the party, with a lighted candle.
Oliver had been dozing; but looked worse, and was more feverish than he had appeared yet. Being assisted by the doctor, he managed to sit up in bed for a minute or so; and looked at the strangers without at all understanding what was going forward—in fact, without seeming to recollect where he was, or what had been passing.
“This,” said Mr. Losberne, speaking softly, but with great vehemence notwithstanding, “this is the lad, who, being accidentally wounded by a spring-gun in some boyish trespass on Mr. What-d’ ye-call-him’s grounds, at the back here, comes to the house for assistance this morning, and is immediately laid hold of and maltreated, by that ingenious gentleman with the candle in his hand: who has placed his life in considerable danger, as I can professionally certify.”
Messrs. Blathers and Duff looked at Mr. Giles, as he was thus recommended to their notice. The bewildered butler gazed from them towards Oliver, and from Oliver towards Mr. Losberne, with a most ludicrous mixture of fear and perplexity.
“You don’t mean to deny that, I suppose?” said the doctor, laying Oliver gently down again.
“It was all done for the—for the best, sir,” answered Giles. “I am sure I thought it was the boy, or I wouldn’t have meddled with him. I am not of an inhuman disposition, sir.”
“Thought it was what boy?” inquired the senior officer.
“The housebreaker’s boy, sir!” replied Giles. ‘”They—they certainly had a boy.”
“Well? Do you think so now?” inquired Blathers.
“Think what, now?” replied Giles, looking vacantly at his questioner.
“Think it’s the same boy, Stupid-head?” rejoined Blathers, impatiently.
“I don’t know; I really don’t know,” said Giles, with a rueful countenance. “I couldn’t swear to him.”
“What do you think?” asked Mr. Blathers.
“I don’t know what to think,” replied poor Giles. “I don’t think it is the boy; indeed, I’m almost certain that it isn’t. You know it can’t be.”
“Has this man been a-drinking, sir?” inquired Blathers, turning to the doctor.
“What a precious muddle-headed chap you are!” said Duff, addressing Mr. Giles, with supreme contempt.
Mr. Losberne had been feeling the patient’s pulse during this short dialogue; but he now rose from the chair by the bedside, and remarked, that if the officers had any doubts upon the subject, they would perhaps like to step into the next room, and have Brittles before them.
Acting upon this suggestion, they adjourned to a neighbouring apartment, where Mr. Brittles, being called in, involved himself and his respected superior in such a wonderful maze of fresh contradictions and impossibilities, as tended to throw no particular light on anything, but the fact of his own strong mystification; except, indeed, his declarations that he shouldn’t know the real boy, if he were put before him that instant; that he had only taken Oliver to be he, because Mr. Giles had said he was; and that Mr. Giles had, five minutes previously, admitted in the kitchen, that he began to be very much afraid he had been a little too hasty.