The newcomer, an elderly, thick-set man, who, in spite of his plain clothes, looked as if he were an official of some sort and carried some documents in his hand, at which he was glancing as he entered, started and exclaimed as Lauriston, in his haste, ran up against him. "Hullo!" he said. "What's the matter? You seem in a hurry, young fellow!" Lauriston, almost out of breath with excitement, turned and pointed to the open door of the little parlour. "There's an old man--lying in there--dead!" he whispered. "A grey-bearded old man--is it the pawn-broker--Mr. Multenius?" The man stared, craned his neck to glance in the direction which Lauriston's shaking finger indicated, and then started forward. But he suddenly paused, and motioned Lauriston to go first--and before following him he closed the street door. "Now then, where?" he said. "Dead, do you say?" He followed Lauriston into the parlour, uttered a sharp exclamation as he caught sight of the recumbent figure, and, bending down, laid a hand on the forehead. "Dead, right enough, my lad!" he muttered. "Been dead some minutes, too. But--where's the girl--the grand-daughter? Have you seen anybody?" "Not a soul!" answered Lauriston. "Since I came in, the whole place has been as still as--as it is now!" The man stared at him for a second or two, silently; then, as if he knew the ins and outs of the establishment, he strode to an inner door, threw it open and revealed a staircase. "Hullo there!" he called loudly. "Hullo! Miss Wildrose! Are you there?" This was the first time Lauriston had heard Zillah's surname: even in the midst of that startling discovery, it struck him as a very poetical one. But he had no time to reflect on it--the man turned back into the parlour. "She must be out," he said. "Do you say you found him?" "Yes--I found him," answered Lauriston. "Just now." "And what were you doing here?" asked the man. "Who are you?" Lauriston fancied he detected a faint note of suspicion in these questions, and he drew himself up, with a flush on his face. "My name's Andrew Lauriston," he answered. "I live close by. I came in on--business. Who are you?" "Well, if it comes to that, my lad," said the man, "I'm Detective-Sergeant Ayscough--known well enough around these parts! I came to see the old gentleman about these papers. Now--what was your business, then?" He was watching Lauriston very keenly, and Lauriston, suddenly realizing that he was in an awkward position, determined on candour. "Well, if you really want to know," he said, "I came to borrow some money--on these rings." And he opened his left hand and showed the detective the two rings which he had taken from his trunk--not half-an-hour before. "Your property?" asked Ayscough. "Of course they're my property!" exclaimed Lauriston. "Whose else should they be?"