"Nothing more?" said the little man.
"Stop a bit," replied Sam, suddenly recollecting himself. "Yes; there's a pair o' Wellingtons a good deal worn, and a pair of lady's shoes, in number five."
"What sort of shoes?" hastily inquired Wardle, who, together with Mr. Pickwick, had been lost in bewilderment at the singular catalogue of visitors.
"Country make," replied Sam.
"Any maker's name?"
"Brown."
"Where of?"
"Muggleton."
"It is them," exclaimed Wardle. "By Heavens, we've found them."
"Hush!" said Sam. "The Wellingtons has gone to Doctors' Commons."
"No," said the little man.
"Yes, for a licence."
"We're in time," exclaimed Wardle. "Show us the room; not a moment is to be lost."
"Pray, my dear sir--pray," said the little man; "caution, caution." He drew from his pocket a red silk purse, and looked very hard at Sam as he drew out a sovereign.
Sam grinned expressively.
"Show us into the room at once, without announcing us," said the little man, "and it's yours."
Sam threw the painted tops into a corner, and led the way through a dark passage, and up a wide staircase. He paused at the end of a second passage, and held out his hand.
"Here it is," whispered the attorney, as he deposited the money in the hand of their guide.
The man stepped forward for a few paces followed by the two friends and their legal adviser. He stopped at a door.
"Is this the room?" murmured the little gentleman.
Sam nodded assent.
Old Wardle opened the door; and the whole three walked into the room just as Mr. Jingle, who had that moment returned, had produced the licence to the spinster aunt.
The spinster uttered a loud shriek, and, throwing herself in a chair, covered her face with her hands. Mr. Jingle crumpled up the licence, and thrust it into his coat-pocket. The unwelcome visitors advanced into the middle of the room.
"You--you are a nice rascal, arn't you?" exclaimed Wardle, breathless with passion.