"I think you said last night that it was about half-past nine when Mr. Death went to Catchpole Square the second time." "As near as I can remember, sir." "Within half an hour," he thought, "of Mr. Reginald's second visit." "Thank you, Mrs. Death," he said; "you may depend upon my doing my best to clear things up, and you shall soon hear from me again. I may call upon you without ceremony." "You will be always welcome, sir, but it's a poor place for you to come to." "I don't live in a palace myself," he said, with an attempt at gaiety. Taking his rope and grapnel, still wrapped in the evening paper, he held out his hand to wish her good-night (with the kind thought in his mind of sending a doctor to Gracie), when a man's voice was heard in the passage, inquiring in a gentle voice whether Mrs. Death lived there. CHAPTER XVIII. DR. PYE'S FRIEND, OF THE NAME OF VINSEN. They went out together to ascertain who it was, and the man repeated his question, and observed that it was very dark there. "I'll get a light, sir," said Mrs. Death in an agitated tone. "I hope you haven't brought me bad news." "No," the man answered, "good news I trust you will find it. I have come to attend to your little girl, who, I hear, has a bad attack of bronchitis." "Are you a doctor, sir?" she asked. "Yes, I am a doctor," he answered. "Dr. Vinsen." "It's very good of you, sir, and Gracie is suffering awfully, but I am afraid there is some mistake. I didn't send for you." "Now why did you not send for me," he said, in a tone of gentle banter. "In the first place, because you don't know where I live. In the second place, because you can't afford to pay me; but that will not matter. Why should it? Dear, dear, dear! What is money? Dross--nothing more. Never mind the light; I can see very well--very well." They were now in the room where the children were, who, sitting up in bed, stared open-mouthed at the gentleman with his glossy silk hat and his yellow kid gloves, and his double gold watchchain hanging across his waistcoat. He was a portly gentleman, and when he took off his hat he exhibited a bald head, with a yellow fringe of hair round it, like a halo. His face was fleshy and of mild expression, his eyes rather small and sleepy, and there was, in those features and in his general appearance, an air of benevolent prosperity. "Pictures," he said, looking at the coloured drawings on the table. "Most interesting. And the artist?" "My little girl, sir," said Mrs. Death, looking anxiously at him; "she does it to amuse the children." "Remarkably clever," he said. "_Re_-markably clever. Dear, dear, dear! A budding genius--quite a bud-ding ge-nius. But time presses. Allow me to explain." "Won't you take a chair, sir?" said Mrs. Death, wiping one with her apron, and placing it for him.