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He wrote and sent off a brief note excusing himself for that day； and
ordered dinner presently in his own rooms at the hotel。 He had another
reason for this。 His time in London was very nearly out； and was
anticipated by engagements； his plans were made for returning； and he
thought it behoved his importance to pursue some direct inquiry into the
Blandois disappearance； and be in a condition to carry back to Mr
Henry Gowan the result of his own personal investigation。 He therefore
resolved that he would take advantage of that evening's freedom to go
down to Clennam and Co。's； easily to be found by the direction set forth
in the handbill； and see the place； and ask a question or two there
himself。
Having dined as plainly as the establishment and the Courier would let
him； and having taken a short sleep by the fire for his better recovery
from Mrs Finching； he set out in a hackney…cabriolet alone。 The deep
bell of St Paul's was striking nine as he passed under the shadow of
Temple Bar； headless and forlorn in these degenerate days。
As he approached his destination through the by…streets and water…side
ways； that part of London seemed to him an uglier spot at such an hour
than he had ever supposed it to be。 Many long years had passed since he
had seen it； he had never known much of it； and it wore a mysterious and
dismal aspect in his eyes。 So powerfully was his imagination impressed
by it； that when his driver stopped； after having asked the way more
than once； and said to the best of his belief this was the gateway they
wanted； Mr Dorrit stood hesitating； with the coach…door in his hand；
half afraid of the dark look of the place。
Truly； it looked as gloomy that night as even it had ever looked。 Two of
the handbills were posted on the entrance wall； one on either side； and
as the lamp flickered in the night air； shadows passed over them； not
unlike the shadows of fingers following the lines。 A watch was evidently
kept upon the place。 As Mr Dorrit paused； a man passed in from over the
way； and another man passed out from some dark corner within； and both
looked at him in passing； and both remained standing about。
As there was only one house in the enclosure； there was no room for
uncertainty； so he went up the steps of that house and knocked。 There
was a dim light in two windows on the first…floor。 The door gave back
a dreary； vacant sound； as though the house were empty； but it was not；
for a light was visible； and a step was audible； almost directly。 They
both came to the door； and a chain grated； and a woman with her apron
thrown over her face and head stood in the aperture。
'Who is it？' said the woman。
Mr Dorrit； much amazed by this appearance； replied that he was from
Italy； and that he wished to ask a question relative to the missing
person； whom he knew。
'Hi！' cried the woman； raising a cracked voice。 'Jeremiah！'
Upon this； a dry old man appeared； whom Mr Dorrit thought he identified
by his gaiters； as the rusty screw。 The woman was Under apprehensions
of the dry old man； for she whisked her apron away as he approached； and
disclosed a pale affrighted face。 'Open the door； you fool；' said the
old man； 'and let the gentleman in。'
Mr Dorrit； not without a glance over his shoulder towards his driver and
the cabriolet； walked into the dim hall。 'Now； sir；' said Mr Flintwinch；
'you can ask anything here you think proper； there are no secrets here；
sir。'
Before a reply could be made； a strong stern voice； though a woman's；
called from above； 'Who is it？'
'Who is it？' returned Jeremiah。 'More inquiries。 A gentleman from
Italy。'
'Bring him up here！'
Mr Flintwinch muttered； as if he deemed that unnecessary； but； turning
to Mr Dorrit； said； 'Mrs Clennam。 She will do as she likes。 I'll show
you the way。' He then preceded Mr Dorrit up the blackened staircase；
that gentleman； not unnaturally looking behind him on the road； saw the
woman following； with her apron thrown over her head again in her former
ghastly manner。
Mrs Clennam had her books open on her little table。 'Oh！' said she
abruptly； as she eyed her visitor with a steady look。 'You are from
Italy； sir； are you。 Well？' Mr Dorrit was at a loss for any more
distinct rejoinder at the moment than 'Ha……well？'
'Where is this missing man？ Have you e to give us information where
he is？ I hope you have？'
'So far from it； I……hum……have e to seek information。' 'Unfortunately
for us； there is none to be got here。 Flintwinch； show the gentleman the
handbill。 Give him several to take away。 Hold the light for him to read
it。'
Mr Flintwinch did as he was directed； and Mr Dorrit read it through；
as if he had not previously seen it； glad enough of the opportunity of
collecting his presence of mind； which the air of the house and of the
people in it had a little disturbed。 While his eyes were on the paper；
he felt that the eyes of Mr Flintwinch and of Mrs Clennam were on him。
He found； when he looked up； that this sensation was not a fanciful one。
'Now you know as much；' said Mrs Clennam； 'as we know； sir。 Is Mr
Blandois a friend of yours？'
'No……a……hum……an acquaintance；' answered Mr Dorrit。
'You have no mission from him； perhaps？'
'I？ Ha。 Certainly not。'
The searching look turned gradually to the floor； after taking Mr
Flintwinch's face in its way。 Mr Dorrit； disfited by finding that
he was the questioned instead of the questioner； applied himself to the
reversal of that unexpected order of things。
'I am……ha……a gentleman of property； at present residing in Italy with my
family； my servants； and……hum……my rather large establishment。 Being in
London for a short time on affairs connected with……ha……my estate；
and hearing of this strange disappearance； I wished to make myself
acquainted with the circumstances at first…hand； because there is……ha
hum……an English gentleman in Italy whom I shall no doubt see on my
return； who has been in habits of close and daily intimacy with Monsieur
Blandois。 Mr Henry Gowan。 You may know the name。'
'Never heard of it。' Mrs Clennam said it； and Mr Flintwinch echoed it。
'Wishing to……ha……make the narrative coherent and consecut