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It's a mighty fine sign-post, is The Casby's Head, said Mr Pancks, surveying it with anything rather than admiration; 'but the real name of the House is the Sham's Arms. Its motto is, Keep the Grubber always at it. Is any gentleman present, said Mr Pancks, breaking off and looking round, 'acquainted with the English Grammar? Bleeding Heart Yard was shy of claiming that acquaintance.
Besides that Mr Pancks took every opportunity afforded him in Mr Casby's house of significantly glancing at her and snorting at her which was not much, after what he had done already he began to pervade her daily life. She saw him in the street, constantly. When she went to Mr Casby's, he was always there.
'Then, dearest madame, said Rigaud, throwing himself into an arm-chair so heavily that the old room trembled, 'you will do well to dismiss them. It is your affair. They are not my spies, not my rascals. 'Hark! You Pancks, said Mrs Clennam, bending her brows upon him angrily, 'you Casby's clerk! Attend to your employer's business and your own. Go.
Mr Plornish, after his usual manner, was a little obscure, but conscientiously emphatic. 'And what she come to our place for, he pursued, 'was to leave word that if Miss Dorrit would step up to that card which it's Mr Casby's house that is, and Pancks he has a office at the back, where he really does, beyond belief she would be glad for to engage her.
'I suppose his information to be correct and his discovery, among Mr Casby's loose papers, indisputable; but, without it, I should hardly have supposed this to be a likely place.
At length, by a great effort, he detached himself from the subject sufficiently to observe: 'But she's neither here nor there just at present. The other lady, she's Mr Casby's daughter; and if Mr Casby an't well off, none better, it an't through any fault of Pancks. For, as to Pancks, he does, he really does, he does indeed!
Why, the worst-looking cheat in all this town who gets the value of eighteenpence under false pretences, an't half such a cheat as this sign-post of The Casby's Head here! Cries of 'That's true! and 'No more he an't!
With a comfortable impression upon him, and quite an honest one in its way, that he was still patronising Little Dorrit in doing what had no reference to her, he found himself one afternoon at the corner of Mr Casby's street.
This conversation took place in Clennam's bed-room, while he was yet in bed. He now said he would 'go and look up Mr Rugg', from whom his excited state of mind appeared to require another back; and bundling up his papers, and exchanging one more hearty shake of the hand with Clennam, he went at full speed down-stairs, and steamed off. Clennam, of course, resolved to go direct to Mr Casby's.
It is hardly necessary to add that beyond all doubt he would have presented himself at Mr Casby's door, if there had been no Little Dorrit in existence; for we all know how we all deceive ourselves that is to say, how people in general, our profounder selves excepted, deceive themselves as to motives of action.
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