This last exclamation was addressed to Mr. Turvey, whom Jabez had deposited on a chair, where he was vainly endeavouring to catch an imaginary fly with his hand—a proceeding which ended in his falling out of the chair on to the fender, and bringing down the fire-irons with a terrible clatter. ‘What’s to be done with him?’ exclaimed Mrs. Duck, wringing her hands. ‘Wash’ be done?’ said Mr. Turvey, struggling into a sitting posture; ‘wash’ be done wi’ me? I’m lasht rosh shammer left blooming ‘lone; all lovlish companshish ish faded and gone—eh, Shabez?—faded and gone, old cock—fa’ angone.’ The remembrance of the fall of his lovely companions was too much for Mr. Turvey, and once more his voice became lachrymose. ‘Shuck me oush!’ he exclaimed; ‘shuck mo oush! Lesh die in the streetsh; all monsh gone.’ ‘Really, Susan,’ said Mr. Duck, knitting his brows and assuming an attitude of firmness, ‘I am very sorry to see your relative in this condition. It’s disgraceful—most disgraceful!’ ‘Dishgraceful!’ exclaimed Mr. Turvey, dragging himself up into a horizontal position and dropping heavily into the chair again; ‘wheresh dishgrace? Look here, Mishter Duck, I’m har’ up. Send me oush country. “To the Wesht, to the Wesht—land o’ the free; Missh—Misshouri “—cetra; you know; or elsh I shall give shelf up to the polish.’ Mrs. Duck screamed. ‘Don’t listen to what he’s going to say, Jabez; it isn’t true; he’s saying it to extort money.’ Mr. Jabez had not been an inquiry agent all these years without having acquired a habit of pricking up his ears. The mention of police aroused his attention at once, and then he remembered the mystery of the thousand pounds. He saw that if he wanted Mr. Turvey to become communicative he had better irritate him. ‘Give yourself up to the police!’ he exclaimed; ‘if you don’t leave my house instantly I’ll save you the trouble.’ For a moment Mr. Turvey looked at Mr. Duck as though he was wondering if he meant it. Gradually his features assumed an expression of rage which would have been comical had not the hideous surroundings of drunkenness overpowered all. ‘You—will!’ he exclaimed, speaking slowly and dully, at first with an effort, but more clearly and rapidly as passion sobered him for a time. ‘You will! Do! Then you’ll have to send her to quod with me.’ Mrs. Duck hid her face. ‘It isn’t true, Jabez,’ she moaned; ‘it isn’t true.’ ‘Ha, ha!’ laughed Mr. Turvey, staggering up to the table, and bringing his dirty hand down on it with a blow. ‘Look at her! She won’t do anything more for me, she won’t! Here!’ he shouted, ‘police! police! come and take me! Come and arrest the great gold robber, Turvey the guard! You’ve done it now, Susan! It’s too late! Police! police!’