He so washes, and rubs, and scrubs, and smells, and washes, that he has not long restored himself with a glass of brandy and stood silently before the fire when Saint Paul's bell strikes twelve and all those other bells strike twelve from their towers of various heights in the dark air, and in their many tones. When all is quiet again, the lodger says, "It's the appointed time at last. Shall I go?"
Mr. Guppy nods and gives him a "lucky touch" on the back, but not with the washed hand, though it is his right hand.
He goes downstairs, and Mr. Guppy tries to compose himself before the fire for waiting a long time. But in no more than a minute or two the stairs creak and Tony comes swiftly back.
"Have you got them?"
"Got them! No. The old man's not there."

He washes and rubs and scrubs, and has just restored himself with a glass of brandy when Saint Paul's bell strikes twelve and all those other bells strike twelve from their towers. The lodger says, "It's the appointed time. Shall I go?"
Mr. Guppy nods.
He goes downstairs, and Mr. Guppy tries to compose himself before the fire. But in a minute or two the stairs creak and Tony comes swiftly back.
"Have you got them?"
"No. The old man's not there."
