"You are inattentive, dear John. The latest murder the newsboy is calling out fascinates you. I see you have bought a newspaper off him; they are selling like wildfire. All over London they are screaming--'Murder, murder; horrible murder!' But you are shaking with cold. It will be better--and safer--to converse in your room, where we can read the news you have waited for so long. How true is the old adage, 'Murder will out!' After you, brother-in-law. The host takes the lead, you know. Tread softly, softly!" He spoke with the air of one who holds the man he is addressing in the hollow of his hand, but he was always a braggart. In the midst of my terror and despair that thought came--this man Maxwell was always a braggart. I would hear what he had to say, and speak myself as little as possible till he was done. Thus much made itself intelligible to my dazed senses. So I led the way into the house, and up the stairs to my room, Maxwell following at my heels. Safe within, he turned the key gently in the lock. "We can't be too careful, John, when life and liberty are at stake. And you would have sent me away--me, your only friend, the one man in the world who can save you from the gallows!" "You speak in enigmas," I managed to say. "Nonsense, brother-in-law--nonsense. Drop the mask; you are not in the criminal court; the police are not yet on your track. Your voice is husky. Are you still a teetotaller? Yes? Astonishing. Drink this glass of water--it will clear your throat. But, as my host, you will allow me something stronger. If I ring the bell the slavey will come, I suppose. I must trouble you for a few shillings, John. I am in my chronic state, dead broke, as usual. Bad luck sticks to me, but I would not change places with you for all that. My pockets are empty, but my neck is safe. What does the paper say about it?" He took it from my hand, and took also the purse I had thrown on the table. The servant had answered the bell, and was waiting in the passage. He opened the door, and giving her money sent her for a bottle of brandy. "Any other lodgers on this floor, John? No? That's fortunate. The less risk of our being overheard. What name do you go by here? Your own? No? What then? Tush! You can't conceal it from me; I have but to ask the slavey or the landlady. There is no need even for that, except by way of confirmation. Shall we say Fletcher--John Fletcher? A great mistake. Will tell fatally against you if they run you down, or if you make me your enemy. You should have kept to Fordham; it would have been a point in your favor. Poor Louis! He wasn't half a bad sort of fellow; but you never loved him. You almost killed him when you were boys together, and you only waited your opportunity to finish him. Well it's done, and badly done. I don't set myself up as a particularly moral or virtuous party, but my hands are free from blood. Ah, there's the slavey with the liquor, and I'm perishing for a drink."