"It's only I--Mr. Larkin," said he. He liked announcing himself wherever he went. "I want to know how Mrs. Mervyn is now." "Gone dead, sir--about a quarter of an hour ago;" and the child's lamentation recommenced. "Ha! very sad. The doctor here?" "He's gone, sir." "And you're _certain_ she's dead?" "Yes, sure, sir," and she sobbed on. "Stop that," he said, sternly, "just a moment--thanks. I want to see Mr. Dingwell, the old gentleman who has been staying here--where is he?" "In the drawing-room, sir, please," said the child, a good deal frightened. And to the drawing-room he mounted. Light was streaming from a door a little open, and a fragrance also of a peculiar tobacco, which he recognised as that of Mr. Dingwell's chibouque. There was a sound of feet upon the floor of the room above, which Mr. Larkin's ear received as those of persons employed in arranging the dead body. I would be perhaps wronging Mr. Dingwell, as I still call him, to say that he smoked like a man perfectly indifferent. On the contrary, his countenance looked lowering and furious--so much so that Mr. Larkin removed his hat, a courtesy which he had intended studiously to omit. "Oh! Mr. Dingwell," said he, "I need not introduce myself." "No, I prefer your withdrawing yourself and shutting the door," said Dingwell. "Yes, in a moment, sir. I merely wish to mention that Lord Verney--I mean your brother, sir--has fully apprized me of the conversation with which you thought it prudent to favour him." "You'd rather have been the medium yourself, I fancy. Something to be made of such a situation? Hey! but you _shan't_." "I don't know what you mean, sir, by something to be made. If I chose to mention your name and abode in the city, sir, you'd not enjoy the power of insulting others long." "Pooh, sir! I've got _your_ letter and my brother's _secret_. I know my strength. I'm steering the fire-ship that will blow you all up, if I please; and you talk of flinging a squib at me, you blockhead! I tell you, sir, you'll make nothing of me; and now you may as well withdraw. There are two things in this house you don't like, though you'll have enough of them one day; there's death up stairs, sir, and some thing very like the devil here." Mr. Larkin thought he saw signs of an approaching access of the Dingwell mania, so he made his most dignified bow, and at the door remarked, "I take my leave, sir, and when next we meet I trust I may find you in a very different state of mind, and one more favourable to business." He had meditated a less covert sneer and menace, but modified his speech prudently as he uttered it; but there was still quite enough that was sinister in his face, as he closed the door, to strike Mr. Dingwell's suspicion.