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"Who did you want?" said the boy, fitting two of the spikes into his chin. "There was a follower, or an officer, or something, here," said Mr. Jarndyce, "who is dead." "Yes?" said the boy. "Well?" "I want to know his name, if you please?" "Name of Neckett," said the boy. "And his address?" "Bell Yard," said the boy. "Chandler's shop, left hand side, name of Blinder."
"Was he I don't know how to shape the question " murmured my guardian, "industrious?" "Was Neckett?" said the boy. "Yes, wery much so. He was never tired of watching. He'd set upon a post at a street corner eight or ten hours at a stretch if he undertook to do it." "He might have done worse," I heard my guardian soliloquize. "He might have undertaken to do it and not done it. Thank you.
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