"Lawk! no, sir--Lord forbid!" said Solomon, now thoroughly wakened. "Now, Solomon, bring your light, and come with me; this must be inquired into. I saw a woman run this way, and if she is not gone through the gate, she is gone into this next number. Whose rooms are in No. 13?" "There's Mr Dyson's, sir, on the ground-floor." Mr Dyson was the very fellow who had called at Challoner's rooms. "Hah! well, I'll call Mr Dyson up. Whose besides?" "There's Mr Leicester, sir, above his'n." "Very well, Solomon; call up Mr Dyson, and say I wish to speak with him particularly." And so saying, the dean proceeded up-stairs. The moment Leicester heard his name mentioned, he began to anticipate a domiciliary visit. The thing was so ridiculous that we hardly knew what to do. "Shall I get into bed, Hawthorne? I don't want to be caught in this figure." "Why, I don't know that you will be safe there, in the present state of the dean's suspicions. No; tuck up those confounded petticoats, clap on your pea-jacket, twist those love-locks up under your cap, light this cigar, and sit in your easy-chair. The dean must be 'cuter than usual if he finds you out as the lady he is in search of." Leicester had hardly time to take this advice--the best I could hit upon at the moment--when the dean knocked at the door. "Who are you? Come in," said we both in a breath. "I beg your pardon, Mr Leicester," said the dean in his most official tone; "nothing but actually imperative duty occasions my intrusion at this unseasonable hour, but a most extraordinary circumstance must be my excuse. I saw, gentlemen--I saw with my own eyes," he continued, looking blacker as he caught sight of me, and remembering, no doubt, the little episode of the stays--"I saw a female figure move in this direction but a few minutes ago. No such person has passed the gate, for I have made inquiry; certainly I have no reason to suppose any such person is concealed here; but I am bound to ask you, sir, on your honour as a gentleman--for I have no wish to make a search--is there any such person concealed in your apartments?" "On my honour, sir, no one is or has been lately here, but myself and Mr Hawthorne." Here Dyson came into the room, looking considerably mystified. "What's the matter, Mr Dean?" said he, nodding good-humouredly to us. "A most unpleasant occurrence, my dear sir; I have seen a woman in this direction not five minutes back. Unfortunately, I cannot be mistaken. She either passed into the porter's lodge or into this staircase." "She is not in my rooms, I assure you," said he, laughing; "I should think you made a mistake: it must have been some man in a white mackintosh." I smiled, and Leicester laughed outright.