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Then he took up his hat, and hardly bowing to Mr Tombe, left the chambers. Mr Tombe, as he did so, rose from his chair, and bent his head meekly down upon the table. "Pinkle, Pinkle," wheezed Mr Tombe. "Never mind; never mind." Pinkle didn't mind; and we may say that he had not minded; for up to that moment he had taken no steps towards a performance of the order which had been given him.
"Well, upon my word, you've taken me a little by surprise. Let me see. Pinkle, Pinkle." Pinkle was a clerk who sat in an inner room, and Mr Tombe's effort to call him seemed to be most ineffectual. But Pinkle understood the sound, and came. "Pinkle, didn't we pay some money into Hock and Block's a few weeks since, to the credit of Mr George Vavasor?"
"Did we, sir?" said Pinkle, who probably knew that his employer was an old fox, and who, perhaps, had caught something of the fox nature himself. "I think we did. Just look Pinkle; and, Pinkle, see the date, and let me know all about it. It's fine bright weather for this time of year, Mr Vavasor; but these easterly winds! ugh ugh ugh!"
"I don't suppose it can take you very long to find out whether you have paid money to my account, by order of Mr Grey. At any rate, I must know before I go away." "Pinkle, Pinkle!" screamed the old man through his coughing; and again Pinkle came. "Well, Pinkle, was anything of the kind done, or is my memory deceiving me?"
Mr Tombe was, no doubt, lying shamefully, for, of course, he remembered all about it; and, indeed, George Vavasor had learned already quite enough for his own purposes. "I was going to look," said Pinkle; and Pinkle again went away. "I'm sorry to give your clerk so much trouble," said Vavasor, in an angry voice; "and I think it must be unnecessary.
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