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The fair Volumnia； not quite unconscious perhaps of the
humanising influence of her charms； pauses in the writing of
cocked…hat notes； and meditatively adjusts the pearl necklace。 Mr
Bucket prices that decoration in his mind； and thinks it as likely as
not that Volumnia is writing poetry。
“If I have not；” pursues Sir Leicester； “in the most emphatic
manner； adjured you； officer； to exercise your utmost skill in this
atrocious case； I particularly desire to take the present
opportunity of rectifying any omission I may have made。 Let no
expense be a consideration。 I am prepared to defray all charges。
You can incur none； in pursuit of the object you have undertaken；
that I shall hesitate for a moment to bear。”
Mr Bucket made Sir Leicester’s bow again； as a response to this
liberality。
“My mind；” Sir Leicester adds； with generous warmth； “has
not； as may be easily supposed； recovered its tone since the late
diabolical occurrence。 It is not likely ever to recover its tone。 But it
is full of indignation tonight； after undergoing the ordeal of
consigning to the tomb the remains of a faithful； a zealous； a
devoted adherent。”
Sir Leicester’s voice trembles； and his grey hair stirs upon his
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head。 Tears are in his eyes； the best part of his nature is aroused。
“I declare；” he says； “I solemnly declare； that until this crime is
discovered； and； in the course of justice； punished； I almost feel as
if there were a stain upon my name。 A gentleman who has devoted
a large portion of his life to me； a gentleman who has devoted the
last day of his life to me； a gentleman who has constantly sat at my
table and slept under my roof； goes from my house to his own； and
is struck down within an hour of his leaving my house。 I cannot
say but that he may have been followed from my house； watched
at my house； even first marked because of his association with my
house—which may have suggested his possessing greater wealth；
and being altogether of greater importance than his own retiring
demeanour would have indicated。 If I cannot； with my means； and
my influence； and my position； bring all the perpetrators of such a
crime to light； I fail in the assertion of my respect for that
gentleman’s memory； and of my fidelity towards one who was ever
faithful to me。”
While he makes this protestation with great emotion and
earnestness； looking round the room as if he were addressing an
assembly； Mr Bucket glances at him with an observant gravity in
which there might be； but for the audacity of the thought； a touch
of compassion。
“The ceremony of today；” continues Sir Leicester； “strikingly
illustrative of the respect in which my deceased friend；” he lays a
stress on the word； for death levels all distinctions； “was held by
the flower of the land； has； I say； aggravated the shock I have
received from this most horrible and audacious crime。 If it were
my brother who had committed it； I would not spare him。”
Mr Bucket looks very grave。 Volumnia remarks of the deceased
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that he was the trustiest and dearest person！
“You must feel it as a deprivation to you； miss；” replies Mr
Bucket； soothingly； “no doubt。 He was calculated to be a
deprivation； I’m sure he was。”
Volumnia gives Mr Bucket to understand； in reply； that her
sensitive mind is fully made up never to get the better of it as long
as she lives； that her nerves are unstrung forever； and that she has
not the least expectation of smiling again。 Meanwhile she folds up
a cocked…hat for that redoubtable old general at Bath； descriptive
of her melancholy condition。
“It gives a start to a delicate female；” says Mr Bucket；
sympathetically； “but it’ll wear off。”
Volumnia wishes of all things to know what is doing？ Whether
they are going to convict； or whatever it is； that dreadful soldier？
Whether he had any accomplices； or whatever the thing is called
in the law？ And a great deal more to the like artless purpose。
“Why you see； miss；” returns Mr Bucket； bringing the finger
into persuasive action—and such is his natural gallantry； that he
had almost said； my dear； “it ain’t easy to answer those questions
at the present moment。 Not at the present moment。 I’ve kept
myself on this case； Sir Leicester Dedlock； Baronet；” whom Mr
Bucket takes into the conversation in right of his importance；
“morning； noon； and night。 But for a glass or two of sherry； I don’t
think I could have had my mind so much upon the stretch as it has
been。 I could answer your questions； miss； but duty forbids it。 Sir
Leicester Dedlock； Baronet； will very soon be made acquainted
with all that has been traced。 And I hope that he may find it；” Mr
Bucket again looks grave； “to his satisfaction。”
The debilitated cousin only hopes some fler’ll be executed—
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zample。 Thinks more interest’s wanted—get man hanged
presentime—than get man place ten thousand a year。 Hasn’t a
doubt—zample—far better hang wrong fler than no fler。
“You know life； you know； sir；” says Mr Bucket； with a
complimentary twinkle of his eye and crook of his finger； “and you
can confirm what I’ve mentioned to this lady。 You don’t want to be
told； that； from information I have received； I have gone to work。
You’re up to what a lady can’t be expected to be up to。 Lord！
especially in your elevated station of society； miss；” says Mr
Bucket； quite reddening at another narrow escape from my dear。
“The officer； Volumnia；” observes Sir Leicester； “is faithful to
his duty； and perfectly right。”
Mr Bucket murmurs； “Glad to have the honour of your
approbation； Sir Leicester Dedlock； Baronet。”
“In fact； Volumnia；” proceeds Sir Leicester； “it is not holding
up a good model for imitation； to ask the officer any such
questions as you have put to him。 He is the best judge of his own
responsibility； he acts upon his responsibility。 And it does not
become us； who assist in making the laws； to impede or interfere
with those who carry them into execution。 Or；” says Sir Leicester；
somewhat sternly； for Volumnia was going to cut in before he had
rounded his sentence； “or who vindicate their outraged majesty。”
Volumnia with all humility explains that she has not merely the
plea of curiosity to urge （in common with the giddy youth of her
sex in general）； but that she is perfectly dying with regret and
interest for the darling man whose loss