 lady out.«
    Miss Witherfield retired, deeply impressed with the magistrate's learning
and research; Mr. Nupkins retired to lunch; Mr. Jinks retired within himself -
that being the only retirement he had, except the sofa-bedstead in the small
parlour which was occupied by his landlady's family in the daytime - and Mr.
Grummer retired, to wipe out, by his mode of discharging his present commission,
the insult which had been fastened upon himself, and the other representative of
his Majesty - the beadle - in the course of the morning.
    While these resolute and determined preparations for the conservation of the
King's peace, were pending, Mr. Pickwick and his friends, wholly unconscious of
the mighty events in progress, had sat quietly down to dinner; and very
talkative and companionable they all were. Mr. Pickwick was in the very act of
relating his adventure of the preceding night, to the great amusement of his
followers, Mr. Tupman especially, when the door opened, and a somewhat
forbidding countenance peeped into the room. The eyes in the forbidding
countenance looked very earnestly at Mr. Pickwick, for several seconds, and were
to all appearance satisfied with their investigation; for the body to which the
forbidding countenance belonged, slowly brought itself into the apartment, and
presented the form of an elderly individual in top-boots - not to keep the
reader any longer in suspense, in short, the eyes were the wandering eyes of Mr.
Grummer, and the body was the body of the same gentleman.
    Mr. Grummer's mode of proceeding was professional, but peculiar. His first
act was to bolt the door on the inside; his second, to polish his head and
countenance very carefully with a cotton handkerchief; his third, to place his
hat, with the cotton handkerchief in it, on the nearest chair; and his fourth,
to produce from the breast-pocket of his coat a short truncheon, surmounted by a
brazen crown, with which he beckoned to Mr. Pickwick with a grave and ghost-like
air.
    Mr. Snodgrass was the first to break the astonished silence. He looked
steadily at Mr. Grummer for a brief space, and then said emphatically: »This is
a private room, sir. A private room.«
    Mr. Grummer shook his head, and replied, »No room's private to his Majesty
when the street door's once passed. That's law. Some people maintains that an
Englishman's house is his castle. That's gammon.«
    The Pickwickians gazed on
