It was past midnight when I crossed London Bridge. Pursuing thenarrow intricacies of the streets which at that time tendedwestward near the Middlesex shore of the river, my readiest accessto the Temple was close by the river-side, through Whitefriars. Iwas not expected till to-morrow, but I had my keys, and, if Herbertwere gone to bed, could get to bed myself without disturbing him.

As it seldom happened that I came in at that Whitefriars gate afterthe Temple was closed, and as I was very muddy and weary, I did nottake it ill that the night-porter examined me with much attentionas he held the gate a little way open for me to pass in. To helphis memory I mentioned my name.

"I was not quite sure, sir, but I thought so. Here's a note, sir.The messenger that brought it, said would you be so good as read itby my lantern?"

Much surprised by the request, I took the note. It was directed toPhilip Pip, Esquire, and on the top of the superscription were thewords, "PLEASE READ THIS, HERE." I opened it, the watchman holdingup his light, and read inside, in Wemmick's writing:

"DON'T GO HOME."

Chapter 45

Turning from the Temple gate as soon as I had read the warning, Imade the best of my way to Fleet-street, and there got a latehackney chariot and drove to the Hummums in Covent Garden. In thosetimes a bed was always to be got there at any hour of the night,and the chamberlain, letting me in at his ready wicket, lighted thecandle next in order on his shelf, and showed me straight into thebedroom next in order on his list. It was a sort of vault on theground floor at the back, with a despotic monster of a four-postbedstead in it, straddling over the whole place, putting one of hisarbitrary legs into the fire-place and another into the doorway,and squeezing the wretched little washing-stand in quite a DivinelyRighteous manner.

As I had asked for a night-light, the chamberlain had brought mein, before he left me, the good old constitutional rush-light ofthose virtuous days - an object like the ghost of a walking-cane,which instantly broke its back if it were touched, which nothingcould ever be lighted at, and which was placed in solitaryconfinement at the bottom of a high tin tower, perforated withround holes that made a staringly wide-awake pattern on the walls.When I had got into bed, and lay there footsore, weary, andwretched, I found that I could no more close my own eyes than Icould close the eyes of this foolish Argus. And thus, in the gloomand death of the night, we stared at one another.

What a doleful night! How anxious, how dismal, how long! There wasan inhospitable smell in the room, of cold soot and hot dust; and,as I looked up into the corners of the tester over my head, Ithought what a number of blue-bottle flies from the butchers', andearwigs from the market, and grubs from the country, must beholding on up there, lying by for next summer. This led me tospeculate whether any of them ever tumbled down, and then I fanciedthat I felt light falls on my face - a disagreeable turn of thought,suggesting other and more objectionable approaches up my back. WhenI had lain awake a little while, those extraordinary voices withwhich silence teems, began to make themselves audible. The closetwhispered, the fireplace sighed, the little washing-stand ticked,and one guitar-string played occasionally in the chest of drawers.At about the same time, the eyes on the wall acquired a newexpression, and in every one of those staring rounds I sawwritten, DON'T GO HOME.

Whatever night-fancies and night-noises crowded on me, they neverwarded off this DON'T GO HOME. It plaited itself into whatever Ithought of, as a bodily pain would have done. Not long before, Ihad read in the newspapers, how a gentleman unknown had come to theHummums in the night, and had gone to bed, and had destroyedhimself, and had been found in the morning weltering in blood. Itcame into my head that he must have occupied this very vault ofmine, and I got out of bed to assure myself that there were no redmarks about; then opened the door to look out into the passages,and cheer myself with the companionship of a distant light, nearwhich I knew the chamberlain to be dozing. But all this time, why Iwas not to go home, and what had happened at home, and when Ishould go home, and whether Provis was safe at home, were questionsoccupying my mind so busily, that one might have supposed therecould be no more room in it for any other theme. Even when Ithought of Estella, and how we had parted that day for ever, andwhen I recalled all the circumstances of our parting, and all herlooks and tones, and the action of her fingers while she knitted -even then I was pursuing, here and there and everywhere, thecaution Don't go home. When at last I dozed, in sheer exhaustion ofmind and body, it became a vast shadowy verb which I had toconjugate. Imperative mood, present tense: Do not thou go home, lethim not go home, let us not go home, do not ye or you go home, letnot them go home. Then, potentially: I may not and I cannot gohome; and I might not, could not, would not, and should not gohome; until I felt that I was going distracted, and rolled over onthe pillow, and looked at the staring rounds upon the wall again.

I had left directions that I was to be called at seven; for it wasplain that I must see Wemmick before seeing any one else, andequally plain that this was a case in which his Walworthsentiments, only, could be taken. It was a relief to get out of theroom where the night had been so miserable, and I needed no secondknocking at the door to startle me from my uneasy bed.

The Castle battlements arose upon my view at eight o'clock. Thelittle servant happening to be entering the fortress with two hotrolls, I passed through the postern and crossed the drawbridge, inher company, and so came without announcement into the presence ofWemmick as he was making tea for himself and the Aged. An open doorafforded a perspective view of the Aged in bed.

"Halloa, Mr. Pip!" said Wemmick. "You did come home, then?"

"Yes," I returned; "but I didn't go home."

"That's all right," said he, rubbing his hands. "I left a note foryou at each of the Temple gates, on the chance. Which gate did youcome to?"

I told him.

"I'll go round to the others in the course of the day and destroythe notes," said Wemmick; "it's a good rule never to leavedocumentary evidence if you can help it, because you don't knowwhen it may be put in. I'm going to take a liberty with you. -Would you mind toasting this sausage for the Aged P.?"

I said I should be delighted to do it.

"Then you can go about your work, Mary Anne," said Wemmick to thelittle servant; "which leaves us to ourselves, don't you see, Mr.Pip?" he added, winking, as she disappeared.

I thanked him for his friendship and caution, and our discourseproceeded in a low tone, while I toasted the Aged's sausage and hebuttered the crumb of the Aged's roll.

"Now, Mr. Pip, you know," said Wemmick, "you and I understand oneanother. We are in our private and personal capacities, and we havebeen engaged in a confidential transaction before today. Officialsentiments are one thing. We are extra official."

I cordially assented. I was so very nervous, that I had alreadylighted the Aged's sausage like a torch, and been obliged to blowit out.

"I accidentally heard, yesterday morning," said Wemmick, "being ina certain place where I once took you - even between you and me,it's as well not to mention names when avoidable--"

"Much better not," said I. "I understand you."

"I heard there by chance, yesterday morning," said Wemmick, "that acertain person not altogether of uncolonial pursuits, and notunpossessed of portable property - I don't know who it may reallybe - we won't name this person--"

"Not necessary," said I.

" - had made some little stir in a certain part of the world wherea good many people go, not always in gratification of their owninclinations, and not quite irrespective of the governmentexpense--"

In watching his face, I made quite a firework of the Aged'ssausage, and greatly discomposed both my own attention andWemmick's; for which I apologized.

" - by disappearing from such place, and being no more heard ofthereabouts. From which," said Wemmick, "conjectures had beenraised and theories formed. I also heard that you at your chambersin Garden Court, Temple, had been watched, and might be watchedagain."

"By whom?" said I.

"I wouldn't go into that," said Wemmick, evasively, "it might clashwith official responsibilities. I heard it, as I have in my timeheard other curious things in the same place. I don't tell it youon information received. I heard it."

He took the toasting-fork and sausage from me as he spoke, and setforth the Aged's breakfast neatly on a little tray. Previous toplacing it before him, he went into the Aged's room with a cleanwhite cloth, and tied the same under the old gentleman's chin, andpropped him up, and put his nightcap on one side, and gave himquite a rakish air. Then, he placed his breakfast before him withgreat care, and said, "All right, ain't you, Aged P.?" To which thecheerful Aged replied, "All right, John, my boy, all right!" Asthere seemed to be a tacit understanding that the Aged was not in apresentable state, and was therefore to be considered invisible, Imade a pretence of being in complete ignorance of theseproceedings.

"This watching of me at my chambers (which I have once had reasonto suspect)," I said to Wemmick when he came back, "is inseparablefrom the person to whom you have adverted; is it?"

Wemmick looked very serious. "I couldn't undertake to say that, ofmy own knowledge. I mean, I couldn't undertake to say it was atfirst. But it either is, or it will be, or it's in great danger ofbeing."

As I saw that he was restrained by fealty to Little Britain fromsaying as much as he could, and as I knew with thankfulness to himhow far out of his way he went to say what he did, I could notpress him. But I told him, after a little meditation over the fire,that I would like to ask him a question, subject to his answeringor not answering, as he deemed right, and sure that his coursewould be right. He paused in his breakfast, and crossing his arms,and pinching his shirt-sleeves (his notion of indoor comfort was tosit without any coat), he nodded to me once, to put my question.

"You have heard of a man of bad character, whose true name isCompeyson?"

He answered with one other nod.

"Is he living?"

One other nod.

"Is he in London?"

He gave me one other nod, compressed the post-office exceedingly,gave me one last nod, and went on with his breakfast.

"Now," said Wemmick, "questioning being over;" which he emphasizedand repeated for my guidance; "I come to what I did, after hearingwhat I heard. I went to Garden Court to find you; not finding you,I went to Clarriker's to find Mr. Herbert."

"And him you found?" said I, with great anxiety.

"And him I found. Without mentioning any names or going into anydetails, I gave him to understand that if he was aware of anybody -Tom, Jack, or Richard - being about the chambers, or about theimmediate neighbourhood, he had better get Tom, Jack, or Richard,out of the way while you were out of the way."

"He would be greatly puzzled what to do?"

"He was puzzled what to do; not the less, because I gave him myopinion that it was not safe to try to get Tom, Jack, or Richard,too far out of the way at present. Mr. Pip, I'll tell you something.Under existing circumstances there is no place like a great citywhen you are once in it. Don't break cover too soon. Lie close.Wait till things slacken, before you try the open, even for foreignair."

I thanked him for his valuable advice, and asked him what Herberthad done?

"Mr. Herbert," said Wemmick, "after being all of a heap for half anhour, struck out a plan. He mentioned to me as a secret, that he iscourting a young lady who has, as no doubt you are aware, abedridden Pa. Which Pa, having been in the Purser line of life,lies a-bed in a bow-window where he can see the ships sail up anddown the river. You are acquainted with the young lady, mostprobably?"

"Not personally," said I.

The truth was, that she had objected to me as an expensivecompanion who did Herbert no good, and that, when Herbert had firstproposed to present me to her, she had received the proposal withsuch very moderate warmth, that Herbert had felt himself obliged toconfide the state of the case to me, with a view to the lapse of alittle time before I made her acquaintance. When I had begun toadvance Herbert's prospects by Stealth, I had been able to bearthis with cheerful philosophy; he and his affianced, for theirpart, had naturally not been very anxious to introduce a thirdperson into their interviews; and thus, although I was assured thatI had risen in Clara's esteem, and although the young lady and Ihad long regularly interchanged messages and remembrances byHerbert, I had never seen her. However, I did not trouble Wemmickwith these particulars.

"The house with the bow-window," said Wemmick, "being by theriver-side, down the Pool there between Limehouse and Greenwich,and being kept, it seems, by a very respectable widow who has afurnished upper floor to let, Mr. Herbert put it to me, what did Ithink of that as a temporary tenement for Tom, Jack, or Richard?Now, I thought very well of it, for three reasons I'll give you.That is to say. Firstly. It's altogether out of all your beats, andis well away from the usual heap of streets great and small.Secondly. Without going near it yourself, you could always hear ofthe safety of Tom, Jack, or Richard, through Mr. Herbert. Thirdly.After a while and when it might be prudent, if you should want toslip Tom, Jack, or Richard, on board a foreign packet-boat, therehe is - ready."

Title: Great Expectations
Author: Charles Dickens
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