Every day in the year, Gorman might have been seen at the "Golden Swan"; but never for longer than a few minutes at a time, when he inspected the books, received the cash drawn the day before; and made an impression on all in the premises, that tended to convince them they were well looked after. "Humph!" ejaculated Gorman, as he finished counting the dirty coppers and pieces of silver which his agent had delivered to him, and dropped them from his dirty fingers into a dirty leather bag: "Business is dull, I think." "It ain't brisk just now, sir," replied the deputy-landlord of the "Golden Swan." Gorman received this reply with another "Humph," and then, putting the bag in his coat pocket, prepared to leave. "No one bin askin' for me?" inquired Gorman. "No, sir; no one." "I'll be back to-morrow about this time." The deputy knew that this was false, for his employer invariably came at a different hour each day, in order to take "the house" by surprise; but he said, "Very well, sir," as usual. "And mind," continued Gorman, "that you put the lights out. You're uncommon careful about that, I hope?" It is worthy of remark, in reference to Gorman's anxiety about putting out lights, that he had been burned out of several sets of premises in the course of a few years. He was quite a martyr, as it were, to fire. Unaccountably worried, pursued, and damaged by it--no, not damaged, by the way; because Gorman was a prudent man, and always insured to the full amount. His enemies sometimes said _above_ it; but neither they nor we have any means of proving or disproving that. The deputy protested that he always exercised the utmost precaution in putting everything out every night--from the last beery lingerer, to the gas--and that he felt quite put out himself at being asked the question, as it implied a doubt of his care and attention to business. Hereupon Gorman said "Good-night," and the deputy returned to the counter, where besotted men and drunken women awaited his attendance. Three-quarters of an hour sufficed to convey Gorman from the east to the west end of London. Here he sought the well-known precincts of Poorthing Lane, and entered the shop of Mr David Boone. That worthy received him with a look of glad surprise; but with a feeling of the deepest misery. "Anyone inside?" asked Gorman. "No," said Boone, "'cept the boy. I'll call him to mind the shop, and then we can be alone." As Gorman did not vouchsafe a reply, but walked straight into the little room behind the shop, Boone called the boy, and bade him mind the shop, while he held private consultation with his friend.