The expression on Ogledon’s face stopped her; she looked at him uneasily. He recovered his composure somewhat, and was about to start again to question her on that disquieting matter, when the two servants entered the room, with the materials for supper. Dr. Cripps had, long before this, discovered a decanter of spirits, and had been helping himself rather liberally to the contents. He came up to the table now, still carrying the decanter, and moaning out a song in a wheezy and cracked voice; sat down, with the decanter at his elbow, and—utterly oblivious of every one else—began his supper; taking a great deal to drink, and very little to eat. Ogledon being in no mood, with that question still unanswered, for any meal, waited until the men had withdrawn, and then once more approached Mrs. Dolman. White-faced and in deadly anxiety though he was, his smile was soft and kindly, and his voice—albeit a trifle impatient at times of what he supposed to be the good woman’s perversity—as soft and kindly as his smile. “Now—my dear Mrs. Dolman—pray excuse my pestering you with questions at such an hour, I beg—I am desperately anxious about my cousin, Mr. Chater. You say you saw him on Saturday; are you sure you are not confusing the dates?” It was the housekeeper’s turn to stare now; after doing so for a moment, in evident perplexity, she shook her head vigorously. “No, Mr. Ogledon—certainly not,” she said; “Master Dandy came down on Saturday—driving from the station in a fly. I sent down to ask if you were expected, sir—and he said he did not know.” Here a remarkable and ghostly interruption came, in the form of a long wailing chant from Dr. Cripps, who suddenly broke forth, in a quavering treble, with a stave of—“Down Among the Dead Men.” Ogledon, turning furiously, fell upon his friend, and shook him so vigorously, that the little man seemed, for a few moments, in danger of being shaken out of existence altogether. When, however, Ogledon desisted, Cripps merely looked round about him dizzily; smiled, quite as though it were an exercise to which he was accustomed; and set to work drinking harder than ever. Meantime, Ogledon had turned again to the housekeeper—and began once more to peg away at that subject of the dead man, as though he could never leave it alone. “Did—did Mr. Chater seem—seem well?” he asked, with some assumption of carelessness. “I never saw him looking better, Mr. Ogledon,” replied the housekeeper, tranquilly. “And now, gentlemen,” she added—“seeing that you have all you require, I will take the liberty of going to bed.” “By all means,” responded Ogledon, appearing to wake suddenly from a heavy musing fit which had been upon him. “By all means, Mrs. Dolman. You are quite sure, Mrs. Dolman—quite sure that you have made no mistake about the date?”