After uttering this doughty resolution he was
quite silent, and they went sadly side by side; so
dear, so near, yet always some infernal thing or
other coming between them. They reached a
passage in a miserable street. At the mouth
stood two of Green's men, planted there to follow
Skinner should he go out: but they reported all
quiet. "Bring the old gentleman up," said
Green. " I appointed him six o'clock, and it's
on the stroke." He then descended the passage,
and striking a light led the way up a high stair.
Skinner lived on the fifth story. Green tapped at
his door. "Mr. Barkington."

No reply.

"Mr. Barkington, I've brought you some
money."

No reply.

"Perhaps he is not at home," said Mr.
Compton.

"Oh yes, sir, I sent a sharp boy up, and he
picked the paper out of the keyhole and saw
him sitting reading."

He then applied his own eye to the keyhole.
"I see something black," said he; "I think he
suspects."

While he hesitated, they became conscious of
a pungent vapour stealing through the now open
keyhole.

"Hallo! " said Green, " what is this?"

Fullalove observed coolly that Mr. Skinner's
lungs must be peculiarly made if he could breathe
in that atmosphere. " If you want to see him
alive, let me open the door."

"There's something amiss here," said Green
gravely.

At that Fullalove whipped out a tool no
bigger than a nutcracker, forced the edge in, and
sent the door flying open. The room or den
was full of an acrid vapour, and close to them sat
he they sought motionless.

"Keep the lady back," cried Green, and
threw the vivid light of his bull's-eye on a
strange, grotesque, and ghastly scene. The floor
was covered with bright sovereigns that glittered
in the lamp-light. On the table was an open
book, and a candle quite burnt down: the
grease had run into a circle.

And as was that grease to the expired light, so
was the thing that sat there in human form to
the Noah Skinner they had come to seek. Dead
this many a day of charcoal fumes, but preserved
from decomposition by those very fumes, sat
Noah Skinner dried into bones and leather,
waiting for them with his own Hard Cash, and
with theirs; for, creeping awestruck round that
mummified figure seated dead on his pool of
sovereigns, they soon noticed in his left hand a
paper: it was discoloured by the vapour, and
part hid by the dead thumb; but thus much
shone out clear and amazing, that it was a
banker's receipt to David Dodd, Esq., for £14,010,
drawn at Barkington, and signed for Richard
Hardie by Noah Skinner. Julia had drawn back,
and was hiding her face; but soon curiosity
struggled with awe in the others: they peeped
at the Receipt; they touched the weird figure.
Its yellow skin sounded like a drum, and its
joints creaked like a puppet's. At last Compton
suggested that Edward Dodd ought to secure
that valuable document.

"No, no," said Edward: " it is too like robbing
the dead."

"Then I will," said Compton.

But he found the dead thumb and finger
would not part with the receipt; then, as a trifle
turns the scale, he hesitated in turn: and all but
Julia stood motionless round the body that held
the Receipt, the soul of the lost Cash, and still,
as in life, seemed loth to part with it.

Then Fullalove came beside the arm-chair, and
said, " I'm a man from foreign parts; I have no
interest here but justice: and justice I'll dew."
He took the dead arm, and the joint creaked: he
applied the same lever to the bone and parchment
hand he had to the door: it creaked too, but
more faintly, and opened and let out this.

{IMAGE}