D. Wragg's evasion being stayed, and his small person forced to the front, he was one of those who filled up the landing, close by a couple of doors--one strongly padlocked, and the other cobwebbed and dirty, as if it had not been opened for years. "Now then, where are the keys of these doors?" said the sergeant. "Break 'em open while you are about it," cried D. Wragg, in tones that bordered upon a howl. "But don't you make no mistake; I protest against this here, once more. I ain't agoin' to have my house sacked like this here for nothing. I should have thought as them gents would ha' stopped it all; but never mind, I don't care. It shan't go to the bottom without some on you hearin' of it." "Hold your tongue, will you, and give up the keys," said the sergeant who looked just a trifle less impassive than usual. "What is it you all mean?" cried D. Wragg, excitedly, "what is it you are all thinking about? You don't suppose as I'm giving up my respectable business of a nat'ralist to go in for burking and doctor's work, do you? You don't suppose as I know anything of the young chap as is gone. Don't you make no mistake: I can see through it all. You've been crammed and filled up with all sorts o' gammon; but I wonder at you, Sergeant Falkner, a-listening to what such a thing as _that_ says." D. Wragg pointed as he spoke at Mr John Screwby, which gentleman had, from a scarcity of watchers, and from doubts as to the probability of his staying so long as he was wanted, been brought up from stage to stage, to stand now, shuffling from foot to foot, and staring first at the irate dealer, and then at the door which concealed the interior of the attic from his graze. "Somebody shall pay for all this, though," cried D. Wragg, "as I said afore, and as I'll say half a score o' times." As he spoke, he looked full at Sir Francis, as if identifying him with the "somebody" who should be made to pay, although at the present time no mean sum of the baronet's money had made its way into his pockets. But at last, seeing that Sergeant Falkner would not be trifled with, and that in another moment the door or doors would be kicked down, he produced the keys with a great many protestations, ending at last in a perfect whine of misery, one that strangely reminded the eager bystanders of the dogs below. But the keys produced, D. Wragg's importance decreased on the instant; for though there were those present who trembled at the thought of the door being thrown back, the majority were devoured by curiosity--the morbid curiosity which used to take a crowd to an execution, and even at the present day attracts hundreds to the Old Bailey that they may catch a glimpse of the black flag, and imagine for themselves the horrors going on behind the grim black stony walls. There were no stony walls here though--only a few slight boards between the gazers and the mystery whose solution they were so eager to read.