And with no more counsel to help him, Mr. Viney was fain to depart. He went grinning and cursing up the passage and so toward the bridge, without another word or look. And when I turned to my grandfather I saw him staring fixedly at me, lost in thought, and rubbing his hand up in his hair behind, through the grey and out at the brown on top. CHAPTER XII IN THE CLUB-ROOM By the side of the bills stuck at the corner of Hole-in-the-Wall Stairs--the bills that had so fascinated Stephen--a new one appeared, with the heading "Body Found." It particularised the personal marks and description of the unhappy Marr; his "fresh complexion," his brown hair, his serge suit and his anklejacks. The bill might have stood on every wall in London till it rotted, and never have given a soul who knew him a hint to guess the body his: except Viney, who knew the fact already. And the body might have been buried unidentified ere Viney would have shown himself in the business, were it not for the interference of Mr. Cripps. For industry of an unprofitable kind was a piece of Mr. Cripps's nature; and, moreover, he was so regular a visitor at the mortuary as to have grown an old friend of the keeper. His persistent prying among the ghastly liers-in-state, at first on plea of identifying a friend--a contingency likely enough, since his long-shore acquaintance was wide--and later under the name of friendly calls, was an indulgence that had helped him to consideration as a news-monger, and twice had raised him to the elevation of witness at an inquest; a distinction very gratifying to his simple vanity. He entertained high hopes of being called witness in the case of the man stabbed at the side door of the Hole in the Wall; and was scarce seen at Captain Nat's all the next day, preferring to frequent the mortuary. So it happened that he saw the other corpse that was carried thence from Hole-in-the-Wall Stairs. "There y'are," said the mortuary-keeper. "There's a fresh 'un, just in from the river, unknown. _You_ dunno 'im either, I expect." But Mr. Cripps was quite sure that he did. Curious and eager, he walked up between the two dead men, his grimy little body being all that divided them in this their grisly reunion. "I _do_ know 'im," he insisted, thoughtfully. "Leastways I've seen 'im somewheres, I'm sure." The little man gazed at the dreadful head, and then at the rafters: then shut his eyes with a squeeze that drove his nose into amazing lumps and wrinkles; then looked at the head again, and squeezed his eyelids together once more; and at last started back, his eyes rivalling his very nose itself for prominence. "Why!" he gasped, "it is! It is, s'elp me!... It's Mr. Marr, as is pardners with Mr. Viney! I on'y see 'im once in my life, but I'll swear it's 'im!... Lord, what a phenomenal go!"