There was a grating of bolts behind the big oak gate at which we stood, and a little wicket which was set within the same came slowly open to disclose an ox-like bulk which growled out some inquiry. The doctor, ignoring this presence, stepped daintily through the wicket, and I followed. I then perceived that we were standing in a courtyard, neatly paved, and having large, neat buildings upon every side. The doctor, jerking his umbrella towards each of these natural objects in turn, spoke as with the mouth of a guide. "Coroner’s court is on your right," he said; "mortuary chamber straight in front; post-mortem chamber slightly to the left; coroner’s private office still more to left; jury room just here; apartment for storing coffins just there; stairway opposite leads to George’s private chambers; dark object there is kennel, containing George’s private dog; dark object here is George. How are you, George?" The dark object referred to came closer, accompanied by a very small candle in a very large lamp, which it held up to the doctor’s face, at the same time exhibiting its own, which was ox-like in character. "It’s _you_," said the voice of the object at last. "I thought it might be somebody as was deceivin’ theirself into playin’ a lark on me. ’Ow are you, Doctor?" At this the doctor and George shook hands with a great display of warmth, and George set down his lantern and produced a pipe, and slowly filled it, and slowly lighted it. "I thought it funny," he then remarked, between slow puffs, "as anybody should deceive theirselves into playing a lark on _me_. What is it to-night, Doctor?" "Gregory the name is," replied my friend. "Inquest at ten o’clock to-morrow. I’m sorry to have you out at this time of night, but I couldn’t possibly get round earlier." "Not a word, Doctor," responded George, as he shook the raindrops from his cap. "This ain’t the latest p.m. I done by many. Let me see now—Gregory? It’ll be that middle-aged job from Wallflower Street, what? Come in this arternoon. What?" "That’s the case," responded Dr. Brink. "Then," said George, "I’m ready when you are, Doctor. What do you suspect?" He moved off up the yard, the doctor following. "_I’ll_ wait here," said your servant. "That’s right," assented the doctor. "I’m not going farther than the doorway myself." "Gentleman’s welcome for my part," intimated George. For which the doctor thanked him. "But," he said, "I don’t think that my friend cares much for post-mortems." "Oh!" reflected George. "There’s lots like that in these days. I puts it down to them street preachers. If you’ll wait there ’arf a minnit, Doctor, I’ll just switch on the lights." With these words the pleasant fellow entered into an adjacent building, which presently became illuminated. I could see the shadow of his form upon the ground-glass windows (which were spacious) as he busied himself with some congenial task upon the other side.