Produced by Suzanne Shell, Martin Agren, Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. HTML version by Al Haines. THE UNINHABITED HOUSE MRS. J. H. RIDDELL CONTENTS 1. MISS BLAKE--FROM MEMORY 2. THE CORONER'S INQUEST 3. OUR LAST TENANT 4. MYSELF AND MISS BLAKE 5. THE TRIAL 6. WE AGREE TO COMPROMISE 7. MY OWN STORY 8. MY FIRST NIGHT AT RIVER HALL 9. A TEMPORARY PEACE 10. THE WATCHER IS WATCHED 11. MISS BLAKE ONCE MORE 12. HELP 13. LIGHT AT LAST 14. A TERRIBLE INTERVIEW 15. CONCLUSION 1. MISS BLAKE--FROM MEMORY If ever a residence, "suitable in every respect for a family of position," haunted a lawyer's offices, the "Uninhabited House," about which I have a story to tell, haunted those of Messrs. Craven and Son, No. 200, Buckingham Street, Strand. It did not matter in the least whether it happened to be let or unlet: in either case, it never allowed Mr. Craven or his clerks, of whom I was one, to forget its existence. When let, we were in perpetual hot water with the tenant; when unlet, we had to endeavour to find some tenant to take that unlucky house. Happy were we when we could get an agreement signed for a couple of years--although we always had misgivings that the war waged with the last occupant would probably have to be renewed with his successor. Still, when we were able to let the desirable residence to a solvent individual, even for twelve months, Mr. Craven rejoiced. He knew how to proceed with the tenants who came blustering, or threatening, or complaining, or bemoaning; but he did not know what to do with Miss Blake and her letters, when no person was liable for the rent. All lawyers--I am one myself, and can speak from a long and varied experience--all lawyers, even the very hardest, have one client, at all events, towards whom they exhibit much forbearance, for whom they feel a certain sympathy, and in whose interests they take a vast deal of trouble for very little pecuniary profit. A client of this kind favours me with his business--he has favoured me with it for many years past. Each first of January I register a vow he shall cost me no more time or money. On each last day of December I find he is deeper in my debt than he was on the same date a twelvemonth previous. I often wonder how this is--why we, so fierce to one human being, possibly honest and well-meaning enough, should be as wax in the hand of the moulder, when another individual, perhaps utterly disreputable, refuses to take "No" for an answer. Do we purchase our indulgences in this way? Do we square our accounts with our own consciences by remembering that, if we have been as stone to Dick, Tom, and Harry, we have melted at the first appeal of Jack?