Then and there, on that Marshalsea pavement, in the shades of evening,
did Mr Pancks, of all mankind, fly over the head and shoulders of Mr
Rugg of Pentonville, General Agent, Accountant, and Recoverer of Debts.
Alighting on his feet, he took Clennam by the button-hole, led him
behind the pump, and pantingly produced from his pocket a bundle of
papers. Mr Rugg, also, pantingly produced from his pocket a bundle of
papers.
'Stay!' said Clennam in a whisper.'You have made a discovery.'
Mr Pancks answered, with an unction which there is no language to
convey, 'We rather think so.' 'Does it implicate any one?' 'How implicate, sir?' 'In any suppression or wrong dealing of any kind?'
'Not a bit of it.' 'Thank God!' said Clennam to himself. 'Now show me.' 'You are to
understand'--snorted Pancks, feverishly unfolding papers, and speaking
in short high-pressure blasts of sentences, 'Where's the Pedigree?
Where's Schedule number four, Mr Rugg? Oh! all right! Here we are.--You
are to understand that we are this very day virtually complete. We
shan't be legally for a day or two. Call it at the outside a week. We've
been at it night and day for I don't know how long. Mr Rugg, you know
how long?
Never mind. Don't say. You'll only confuse me. You shall tell
her, Mr Clennam. Not till we give you leave. Where's that rough total,
Mr Rugg? Oh! Here we are! There sir! That's what you'll have to break to
her. That man's your Father of the Marshalsea!'