“His successor informed me of it yesterday,” said Mr Skimpole, “His successor is in my house now — in possession, I think he calls it. He came yesterday, on my blue-eyed daughter’s birthday. I put it to him, ‘This is unreasonable and inconvenient. If you had a blue-eyed daughter you wouldn’t like me to come, uninvited, on her birthday?’ But he stayed.”

Mr Skimpole laughed at the pleasant absurdity, and lightly touched the piano by which he was seated.

“And he told me,” he said, playing little chords where I shall put full stops, “That Coavinses had left. Three children. No mother. And that Coavinses’ profession. Being unpopular. The rising Coavinses. Were at a considerable disadvantage.”

Mr Jarndyce got up, rubbing his head, and began to walk about. Mr Skimpole played the melody of one of Ada’s favourite songs. Ada and I both looked at Mr Jarndyce, thinking that we knew what was passing in his mind.

After walking and stopping, and several times leaving off rubbing his head, and beginning again, my Guardian put his hand upon the keys and stopped Mr Skimpole’s playing. “I don’t like this, Skimpole,” he said thoughtfully.

Mr Skimpole, who had quite forgotten the subject, looked up surprised.

“The man was necessary,” pursued my Guardian, walking backward and forward in the very short space between the piano and the end of the room, and rubbing his hair up from the back of his head as if a high east wind had blown it into that form. “If we make such men necessary by our faults and follies, or by our want of worldly knowledge, or by our misfortunes, we must not revenge ourselves upon them. There was no harm in his trade. He maintained his children. One would like to know more about this.”

“O! Coavinses?” cried Mr Skimpole, at length perceiving what he meant. “Nothing easier. A walk to Coavinses head-quarters, and you can know what you will.”

Mr Jarndyce nodded to us, who were only waiting for the signal. “Come! We will walk that way, my dears. Why not that way, as soon as another!” We were quickly ready, and went out. Mr Skimpole went with us, and quite enjoyed the expedition. It was so new and so refreshing, he said, for him to want Coavinses, instead of Coavinses wanting him!

He took us, first, to Cursitor Street, Chancery Lane, where there was a house with barred windows, which he called Coavinses’ Castle. On our going into the entry and ringing a bell, a very hideous boy came out of a sort of office, and looked at us over a spiked wicket.

“Who did you want?” said the boy, fitting two of the spikes into his chin.

“There was a follower, or an officer, or something, here,” said Mr Jarndyce, “who is dead.”

“Yes?” said the boy. “Well?”

“I want to know his name, if you please?”

“Name of Neckett,” said the boy.

“And his address?”

“Bell Yard,” said the boy. “Chandler’s shop, left hand side, name of Blinder.”

“Was he — I don’t know how to shape the question,” murmured my Guardian, — “industrious?”