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Leicester’s room； he sets off； full swing； to the nearest coach…stand；
picks out the horse for his money； and directs to be driven to the
Shooting Gallery。 Mr Bucket does not claim to be a scientific judge
of horses； but he lays out a little money on the principal events in
that line； and generally sums up his knowledge of the subject in
the remark； that when he see a horse as can go； he knows him。
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His knowledge is not at fault in the present instance。 Clattering
over the stones at a dangerous pace； yet thoughtfully bringing his
keen eyes to bear on every slinking creature whom he passes in
the midnight streets； and even on the lights in upper windows
where people are going or gone to bed； and on all the turnings that
he rattles by； and alike on the heavy sky； and on the earth where
the snow lies thin—for something may present itself to assist him；
anywhere—he dashes to his destination at such a speed； that when
he stops； the horse half smothers him in a cloud of steam。
“Unbear him half a moment to freshen him up； and I’ll be
back。”
He runs up the long wooden entry； and finds the trooper
smoking his pipe。
“I thought I should； George； after what you have gone through；
my lad。 I haven’t a word to spare。 Now； honour！ All to save a
woman。 Miss Summerson that was here when Gridley died—that
was the name； I know—all right！—where does she live？”
The trooper has just come from there and gives him the address
near Oxford…street。
“You won’t repent it； George。 Good night！”
He is off again with an impression of having seen Phil sitting by
the frosty fire； staring at him open…mouthed； and gallops away
again； and gets out in a cloud of steam again。
Mr Jarndyce； the only person up in the house； is just going to
bed； rises from his book； on hearing the rapid ringing at the bell；
and comes down to the door in his dressing…gown。
“Don’t be alarmed； sir。” In a moment his visitor is confidential
with him in the hall； has shut the door； and stands with his hand
upon the lock。 “I’ve had the pleasure of seeing you before。
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Inspector Bucket。 Look at that handkerchief； sir； Miss Esther
Summerson’s。 Found it myself put away in a drawer of Lady
Dedlock’s； quarter of an hour ago。 Not a moment to lose。 Matter of
life or death。 You know Lady Dedlock？”
“Yes。”
“There has been a discovery there； today。 Family affairs have
come out。 Sir Leicester Dedlock； Baronet； has had a fit—apoplexy
or paralysis—and couldn’t be brought to； and precious time has
been lost。 Lady Dedlock disappeared this afternoon； and left a
letter for him that looks bad。 Run your eye over it。 Here it is！”
Mr Jarndyce having read it； asks him what he thinks？
“I don’t know。 It looks like suicide。 Anyways there’s more and
more danger； every minute； of its drawing to that。 I’d give a
hundred pound an hour to have got the start of the present time。
Now； Mr Jarndyce； I am employed by Sir Leicester Dedlock；
Baronet； to follow her and find her—to save her； and take her his
forgiveness。 I have money and full power； but I want something
else。 I want Miss Summerson。”
Mr Jarndyce in a troubled voice； repeats “Miss Summerson？”
“Now； Mr Jarndyce；”—Mr Bucket has read his face with the
greatest attention all along—“I speak to you as a gentleman of a
humane heart； and under such pressing circumstances as don’t
often happen。 If ever delay was dangerous； it’s dangerous now；
and if ever you couldn’t afterwards forgive yourself for causing it；
this is the time。 Eight or ten hours； worth； as I tell you； a hundred
pound a…piece at least； have been lost since Lady Dedlock
disappeared。 I am charged to find her。 I am Inspector Bucket。
Besides all the rest that’s heavy on her； she has upon her； as she
believes； suspicion of murder。 If I follow her alone； she； being in
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ignorance of what Sir Leicester Dedlock； Baronet； has
communicated to me； may be driven to desperation。 But if I follow
her in company with a young lady； answering to the description of
a young lady that she has a tenderness for—I ask no question； and
I say no more than that—she will give me credit for being friendly。
Let me come up with her； and he able to have the hold upon her of
putting that young lady for’ard； and I’ll save her and prevail with
her if she is alive。 Let me come up with her alone —a harder
matter—and I’ll do my best； but I don’t answer for what the best
may be。 Time flies； it’s getting on for one o’clock。 When one
strikes； there’s another hour gone； and it’s worth a thousand
pound now； instead of a hundred。”
This is all true； and the pressing nature of the case cannot he
questioned。 Mr Jarndyce begs him to remain there； while he
speaks to Miss Summerson。 Mr Bucket says he will； but acting on
his usual principle； does no such thing—following upstairs instead；
and keeping his man in sight。 So he remains； dodging and lurking
about in the gloom of the staircase； while they confer。 In a very
little time； Mr Jarndyce comes down； and tells him that Miss
Summerson will join him directly； and place herself under his
protection； to accompany him where he pleases。 Mr Bucket；
satisfied； expresses high approval； and awaits her coming at the
door。
There； he mounts a high tower in his mind； and looks out； far
and wide。 Many solitary figures he perceives； creeping through the
streets； many solitary figures out on heaths； and roads； and lying
under haystacks。 But the figure that he seeks； is not among them。
Other solitaries he perceives； in nooks of bridges； looking over；
and in shadowed places down by the river’s level； and a dark；
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dark； shapeless object drifting with the tide； more solitary than all；
clings with a drowning hold on his attention。
Where is she？ Living or dead； where is she？ If； as he folds the
handkerchief and carefully puts it up； it were able； with an
enchanted power； to bring before him the place where she found
it； and the night landscape near the cottage where it covered the
little child； would he descry her there？ On the waste； where the
brick…kilns are burning with a pale blue flare； where the straw…
roofs of the wretched huts in which the bricks are made； are being