He shut down the window on all the breezes that were pouring into the room. "Now quick, before I turn the gas out!" he admonished, his hand on the gas-tap. "You'll tell me in the morning, won't you, father?" "Yes," said Mr. Povey, conquering his habitual impulse to say 'No.' He crept back to the large bedroom to grope for clothes. When, having descended to the parlour and lighted the gas there, he opened the side-door, expecting to let Cousin Daniel in, there was no sign of Cousin Daniel. Presently he saw a figure standing at the corner of the Square. He whistled--Samuel had a singular faculty of whistling, the envy of his son--and Daniel beckoned to him. He nearly extinguished the gas and then ran out, hatless. He was wearing most of his clothes, except his linen collar and necktie, and the collar of his coat was turned up. Daniel advanced before him, without waiting, into the confectioner's shop opposite. Being part of the most modern building in the Square, Daniel's shop was provided with the new roll-down iron shutter, by means of which you closed your establishment with a motion similar to the winding of a large clock, instead of putting up twenty separate shutters one by one as in the sixteenth century. The little portal in the vast sheet of armour was ajar, and Daniel had passed into the gloom beyond. At the same moment a policeman came along on his beat, cutting off Mr. Povey from Daniel. "Good-night, officer! Brrr!" said Mr. Povey, gathering his dignity about him and holding himself as though it was part of his normal habit to take exercise bareheaded and collarless in St. Luke's Square on cold November nights. He behaved so because, if Daniel had desired the services of a policeman, Daniel would of course have spoken to this one. "Goo' night, sir," said the policeman, after recognizing him. "What time is it?" asked Samuel, bold. "A quarter-past one, sir." The policeman, leaving Samuel at the little open door, went forward across the lamplit Square, and Samuel entered his cousin's shop. Daniel Povey was standing behind the door, and as Samuel came in he shut the door with a startling sudden movement. Save for the twinkle of gas, the shop was in darkness. It had the empty appearance which a well-managed confectioner's and baker's always has at night. The large brass scales near the flour-bins glinted; and the glass cake-stands, with scarce a tart among them, also caught the faint flare of the gas. "What's the matter, Daniel? Anything wrong?" Samuel asked, feeling boyish as he usually did in the presence of Daniel. The well-favoured white-haired man seized him with one hand by the shoulder in a grip that convicted Samuel of frailty. "Look here, Sam'l," said he in his low, pleasant voice, somewhat altered by excitement. "You know as my wife drinks?" He stared defiantly at Samuel. "N--no," said Samuel. "That is--no one's ever SAID----"