In a short time Oliver was sufficiently recovered to undergo the fatigue of this expedition; and one morning he and Mr. Losberne set out accordingly in a little carriage which belonged to Mrs. Maylie. When they came to Chertsey Bridge, Oliver turned very pale, and uttered a loud exclamation. “What’s the matter with the boy?” cried the doctor, as usual, all in a bustle. “Do you see anything—hear anything—feel anything—eh?” “That, sir,” cried Oliver, pointing out of the carriage window. “That house!” “Yes; well, what of it? Stop, coachman. Pull up here,” cried the doctor. “What of the house, my man—eh?” “The thieves—the house they took me to,” whispered Oliver. “The devil it is!” cried the doctor. “Halloa, there! let me out!” But before the coachman could dismount from his box, he had tumbled out of the coach, by some means or other and, running down to the deserted tenement, began kicking at the door like a madman. “Halloa!” said a little, ugly hump-backed man, opening the door so suddenly that the doctor, from the very impetus of his last kick, nearly fell forward into the passage. “What’s the matter here?” “Matter!” exclaimed the other, collaring him, without a moment’s reflection. “A good deal. Robbery is the matter.” “There’ll be murder, too,” replied the hump-backed man, coolly, “if you don’t take your hands off. Do you hear me?” “I hear you,” said the doctor, giving his captive a hearty shake. “Where’s—confound the fellow, what’s his rascally name—Sikes—that’s it. Where’s Sikes, you thief?” The hump-backed man stared as if in excess of amazement and indignation; and twisting himself dexterously from the doctor’s grasp, growled forth a volley of horrid oaths, and retired into the house. Before he could shut the door, however, the doctor had passed into the parlour, without a word of parley. He looked anxiously round: not an article of furniture, not a vestige of anything, animate or inanimate, not even the position of the cupboards, answered Oliver’s description! “Now,” said the hump-backed man, who had watched him keenly, “what do you mean by coming into my house in this violent way? Do you want to rob me, or to murder me?—which is it?” “Did you ever know a man come out to do either in a chariot and pair, you ridiculous old vampire?” said the irritable doctor. “What do you want, then?” demanded the hunchback, fiercely. “Will you take yourself off before I do you a mischief? curse you!” “As soon as I think proper,” said Mr. Losberne, looking into the other parlour, which, like the first, bore no resemblance whatever to Oliver’s account of it. “I shall find you out some day, my friend.” “Will you?” sneered the ill-favoured cripple. “If you ever want me, I’m here. I haven’t lived here mad, and all alone, for five-and-twenty years, to be scared by you. You shall pay for this; you shall pay for this.” And so saying, the mis-shapen little demon set up a hideous yell, and danced upon the ground as if frantic with rage.