one point in view steadily before him, he
started to reach it in the shortest way, by
walking straight up to the House, and bringing
himself face to face with the first person
in it who opened the door to him.

It was getting towards dark, on Monday
evening, the thirteenth of the month, when
Trottle first set foot on the steps of the House.
When he knocked at the door, he knew
nothing of the matter which he was about
to investigate, except that the landlord was
an elderly widower of good fortune, and that
his name was Forley. A small beginning
enough for a man to start from, certainly!

On dropping the knocker, his first
proceeding was to look down cautiously out of
the corner of his right eye, for any results
which might show themselves at the
kitchen-window. There appeared at it
immediately the figure of a woman, who looked
up inquisitively at the stranger on the steps,
left the window in a hurry, and came back to
it with an open letter in her hand, which she
held up to the fading light. After looking
over the letter hastily for a moment or so,
the woman disappeared once more.

Trottle next heard footsteps shuffling and
scraping along the bare hall of the house. On
a sudden they ceased, and the sound of two
voices—a shrill persuading voice and a gruff
resisting voice—confusedly reached his ears.
After a while, the voices left off speaking—
a chain was undone, a bolt drawn back—
the door opened—and Trottle stood face to
face with two persons, a woman in advance,
and a man behind her, leaning back flat
against the wall.

"Wish you good evening, sir," says the
woman, in such a sudden way, and in such a
cracked voice, that it was quite startling to
hear her. " Chilly weather, ain't it, sir?
Please to walk in. You come from good
Mr. Forley, don't you, sir?"

' Don't you, sir? " chimes in the man
hoarsely, making a sort of gruff echo of
himself, and chuckling after it, as if he
thought he had made a joke.

If Trottle had said, " No," the door
would have been probably closed in his
face. Therefore, he took circumstances as he
found them, and boldly ran all the risk, whatever
it might be, of saying, " Yes."

"Quite right, sir," says the woman. " Good
Mr. Forley's letter told us his particular
friend would be here to represent him, at
dusk, on Monday the thirteenth or, if not
on Monday the thirteenth, then on Monday
the twentieth, at the same time, without
fail. And here you are on the Monday the
thirteenth, ain't you, sir? Mr. Forley's
particular friend, and dressed all in black—quite
right, sir! Please to step into the dining-room—
it's always kep scoured and clean
against Mr. Forley comes here—and I'll fetch;
a candle in half a minute. It gets so dark in
the evenings, now, you hardly know where
you are, do you, sir? And how is good Mr.
Forley in his health? We trust he is better,
Benjamin, don't we? We are so sorry not
to see him as usual, Benjamin, ain't we?
In half a minute, sir, if you don't mind
waiting, I'll be back with the candle. Come
along, Benjamin."

"Come along, Benjamin," chimes in the
echo, and chuckles again as if he thought
he had made another joke.

Left alone in the empty front-parlour,
Trottle wondered what was coming next, as he
heard theshuffling, scraping footsteps go slowly
down the kitchen-stairs. The front-door had
been carefully chained up and bolted behind
him on his entrance; and there was not the
least chance of his being able to open it to
effect his escape, without betraying himself
by making a noise.

Not being of the Jarber sort, luckily for
himself, he took his situation quietly, as he
found it, and turned his time, while alone, to
account, by summing up in his own mind the
few particulars which he had discovered thus
far. He had found out, first, that Mr. Forley
was in the habit of visiting the house regularly.
Second, that Mr. Forley, being
prevented by illness from seeing the people put
in charge as usual, had appointed a friend to
represent him; and had written to say so.
Third, that the friend had a choice of two
Mondays, at a particular time in the evening,
for doing his errand: and that Trottle
had accidentally hit on this time, and on the
first of the Mondays, for beginning his own
investigations. Fourth, that the similarity
between Trottle's black dress, as servant out
of livery, and the dress of the messenger
(whoever he might be), had helped the error
by which Trottle was profiting. So far, so
good. But what was the messenger's errand
and what chance was there that he might
not come up and knock at the door himself,
from minute to minute, on that very evening?

While Trottle was turning over this last
consideration in his mind, he heard the
shuffling footsteps come up the stairs again,
with a flash of candle-light going before
them. He waited for the woman's coming
in with some little anxiety; for the twilight
had been too dim on his getting into the
house to allow him to see either her face or
the man's face at all clearly.

The woman came in first, with the man
she called Benjamin at her heels, and set the
candle on the mantel-piece. Trottle takes
leave to describe her as an offensively-cheerful
old woman, awfully lean aud wiry, and
sharp all over, at eyes, nose, and chin—
devilishly brisk, smiling, and restless, with a
dirty false front and a dirty black cap, and
short fidgetty arms, and long hooked finger-nails—
an unnaturally lusty old woman, who
walked with a spring in her wicked old feet,
and spoke with a smirk on her wicked old
face—the sort of old woman (as Trottle
thinks) who ought to have lived in the dark