closeted with the old harridan shortly before she died; and that she could, as he had reason to believe, throw some light on the subject of his inquiry.
‘How can I find her?’ said the stranger, thrown off his guard; and plainly showing that all his fears (whatever they were) were aroused afresh by the intelligence.
‘Only through me,’ rejoined Mr. Bumble.
‘When?’ cried the stranger, hastily.
‘To-morrow,’ rejoined Bumble.
‘At nine in the evening,’ said the stranger, producing a scrap of paper, and writing down upon it, an obscure address by the water-side, in characters that betrayed his agitation; ‘at nine in the evening, bring her to me there. I needn’t