It happened just as Wemmick had predicted. I soon had the chance to see Mr. Jaggers’ home and compare it to Wemmick’s "Castle." When I arrived at the office, Mr. Jaggers was in his room washing his hands with scented soap. He invited me and my friends to dinner the next day. "No ceremony," he said. "Don't dress up. Just come here at six o'clock, and I will take you home with me."
I noticed that Mr. Jaggers seemed to "wash off" his clients. He had a small closet in his office with a large towel and scented soap. Every time he finished with a criminal or came back from court, he washed his hands and face thoroughly, as if he were cleaning away the dirty business of the law. He even used a small knife to clean under his nails before putting on his coat.
We walked to his house in a part of London called Soho. It was a large, grand house, but it looked gloomy and needed a new coat of paint. Inside, the rooms were dark and filled with heavy, solid furniture. There were no decorations or pretty things. Instead, there were shelves full of books about crime and law. In one corner, there was a desk covered in official papers. It seemed that Mr. Jaggers brought his work home with him every night.
Mr. Jaggers looked closely at my three companions. He didn't seem interested in Herbert or the friendly Startop. Instead, his eyes went straight to Bentley Drummle.
"Pip," he whispered to me, "who is the Spider?"
"The Spider?" I asked.
"The sulky, heavy fellow," he said, pointing to Drummle.
When I told him his name, Jaggers nodded. "I like the look of that fellow," he said. He immediately began talking to Drummle, trying to draw him out and make him speak.
Then, the housekeeper brought in the first dish. Her name was Molly. She was a pale woman of about forty with large, nervous eyes and long, flowing hair. She looked like someone who had seen something terrible. I noticed that she never took her eyes off Mr. Jaggers. She seemed to be waiting for a signal from him, and she looked quite afraid.
The dinner was excellent. Mr. Jaggers served everything himself from a small table next to his chair. He gave us the best meat and wine, but the atmosphere was not relaxed. Jaggers had a way of making us talk about our weaknesses. Before I knew it, I was boasting about my money and my future.
The conversation turned to rowing. Drummle, in his usual rude way, started boasting about his own strength. He said he was stronger and better than all of us. Mr. Jaggers watched him with a strange, dark interest.
As Molly was clearing the table, Mr. Jaggers suddenly grabbed her arm. It was as quick as a trap. We all stopped talking.
"If you want to talk about strength," Mr. Jaggers said to Drummle, "I will show you a wrist. Molly, let them see your wrist."
Molly looked terrified. "Master," she whispered, "please don't."
"Show them both your wrists," Jaggers ordered, his voice cold and firm.
She slowly held out her arms. Her wrists were shocking. They were covered in deep, ugly scars.
"There is true power here," Jaggers said, touching the muscles in her arm. "I have seen many strong men, but I have never seen a grip as strong as hers."
Molly looked at us one by one with a strange, watchful expression. When Jaggers nodded, she quickly pulled her hands away and left the room.
The rest of the evening was unpleasant. Drummle became more and more arrogant. He told us he wouldn't lend anyone a single penny, and he laughed in our faces. Startop tried to be pleasant, but Drummle got so angry that he almost threw a heavy glass at Startop’s head. Luckily, Mr. Jaggers caught his arm just in time.
"Gentlemen," Jaggers said, checking his gold watch, "it is half-past nine. It is time to leave."
We all stood up to go. Startop and Drummle walked away on opposite sides of the street, still angry at each other. I stayed behind for a moment to speak to my guardian. I found him in his room, already washing his hands again, "washing us off" just as he did with his clients.
"I am sorry about the trouble tonight, sir," I said.
"It’s nothing, Pip," he replied, drying his face with a towel. "But I like that Spider. He is a dangerous fellow."
"I don't like him at all, sir," I admitted.
"Good," Jaggers said. "Stay away from him. Keep clear of him as much as you can. But he is the real thing, Pip. If I were a fortune-teller..." He stopped himself and smiled. "But I am not. Good night, Pip."
A month later, Drummle finished his studies with Mr. Pocket and went back to his family. We were all very glad to see him go.