It was at the countinghouse of Shedlock and Craftall, in the High-street, that Bernard first paused in his excursion. The house was shut up; but in the part which might be more properly called the countinghouse, there was some trace of a light, peeping through the outlines of the window-shutters, which showed that one of the inmates was yet astir. The room in question, like the generality of commercial offices, opened into the street, and, consequently, Bernard was able to approach the door, and there listen a while before he solicited admittance. All was still within; and it suddenly occurred to Bernard, on meditating how he should proceed, that it would be well to try if the door were unfastened before he knocked, and, should the result be favourable, enter without notice. In pursuance of this design, he cautiously raised the latch, and, pushing forward, the door flew open. Hastily glancing in, Bernard perceived a man at a contiguous desk, immediately in front of a lighted lamp, whom he recognised as Craftall. He was leaning forward, with his elbows fixed on the desk, and his hands, which were raised to a level with his lips, clasped together before him, as if he were engaged in prayer. Hearing Bernard’s step, he snatched up some article that, while he was in the posture described, had been standing on the desk before him, and hastily slipped it into one of the drawers; and then, with the same precipitation, turned to see who was his visiter. His face was deadly pale, and his thin, shrivelled lips, on his turning fully round, were agitated by a nervous quiver, which could only be caused by a very stirring emotion. Whatever it might be that thus discomposed him, the discovery that his visiter was Bernard Gray, whom he well knew, by no means tended to inspire and embolden him with new spirit. It was, however, no part of Bernard’s design, on the present occasion, to suffer him to see that he was sensible of his confusion, and, with the view of soothing and diverting his suspicions, he at once proceeded to draw him into discourse. “The good time of the night to thee, Master Craftall,” he said. “Hath Master Shedlock been here of late?” Though his faculties were somewhat disordered, Craftall’s characteristic caution, far from being asleep, was more prompt and lively under the pressure of his embarrassment, and he was less open to a surprise than at a moment of composure. The inquiry of Bernard, though deliberately and readily propounded, might signify nothing, and he believed that such was the case; but, however this might be, it was his laudable and discreet practice ever to be on his guard. Being obliged, however, on the passing occasion, to speak on the instant, and without forethought, it was difficult to frame an answer that would not some way commit him; and for once the man of craft hesitated. But his hesitation was so transient, that it could hardly be detected; and, after a moment’s interval, he was prepared with a reply.