name--the person.'

The crafty dwarf, bethinking himself that his giving up the child would
lead to the disclosure of the artifice he had employed, which, as
nothing was to be gained by it, it was well to conceal, stopped short
in his answer and said, 'Now, who do you think?'

'It was Kit, it must have been the boy; he played the spy, and you
tampered with him?' said the old man.

'How came you to think of him?' said the dwarf in a tone of great
commiseration. 'Yes, it was Kit. Poor Kit!'

So saying, he nodded in a friendly manner, and took his leave: stopping
when he had passed the outer door a little distance, and grinning with
extraordinary delight.

'Poor Kit!' muttered Quilp. 'I think it was Kit who said I was an
uglier dwarf than could be seen anywhere for a penny, wasn't it. Ha ha
ha! Poor Kit!' And with that he went his way, still chuckling as he
went.

CHAPTER 10

Daniel Quilp neither entered nor left the old man's house, unobserved.
In the shadow of an archway nearly opposite, leading to one of the many
passages which diverged from the main street, there lingered one, who,
having taken up his position when the twilight first came on, still
maintained it with undiminished patience, and leaning against the wall
with the manner of a person who had a long time to wait, and being well
used to it was quite resigned, scarcely changed his attitude for the
hour together.

This patient lounger attracted little attention from any of those who
passed, and bestowed as little upon them. His eyes were constantly
directed towards one object; the window at which the child was
accustomed to sit. If he withdrew them for a moment, it was only to
glance at a clock in some neighbouring shop, and then to strain his
sight once more in the old quarter with increased earnestness and
attention.

It had been remarked that this personage evinced no weariness in his
place of concealment; nor did he, long as his waiting was. But as the
time went on, he manifested some anxiety and surprise, glancing at the
clock more frequently and at the window less hopefully than before. At
length, the clock was hidden from his sight by some envious shutters,
then the church steeples proclaimed eleven at night, then the quarter
past, and then the conviction seemed to obtrude itself on his mind that
it was no use tarrying there any longer.

That the conviction was an unwelcome one, and that he was by no means
willing to yield t