"Of course, Mrs Brade; but it is quite a little palace of cleanliness." "Which it's very good of you to say so, sir," said Mrs Brade, with an ill-used air, "and it would be if it wasn't for my husband. He's one of the best of men, sir, but that untidy in his habits. What with one boot here, and another boot there, and tobacco ashes all over the place, he nearly worries my life out." A low, peculiar sound came from an ajar door, sounding like a remonstrant growl from the gentleman in question, whereupon Mrs Brade went and shut the door, and drew an old moreen curtain across the opening. "He do breathe a little hard in his sleep, sir," she said apologetically. "And likes plenty of it, eh?" "Oh, dear no, sir. It's only eleven yet," replied Mrs Brade, glancing at a sallow-faced Dutch clock on the wall. "He isn't doo till twelve. You forget, sir, as he's up pretty well all night to let in gents at all hours." "Loose fish?" "Some of 'em, sir--if you means gents as don't behave themselves and comes home smelling of spirits horrid. But most of 'em's from Fleet Street, sir, from the noosepapers, as keeps 'em till two and three and four o'clock, and sometimes later." "Of course, of course, Mrs Brade," said Guest, rising. "We must have our morning papers." "Yes, sir, _and_ our bread and rolls; not that I wish you to think we've anyone in the inn as is a baker." "I did not think so, Mrs Brade; but I'm in a hurry." "And I won't detain you, sir. But, of course, you were going in to see poor Mr Stratton, sir." "Yes; what of that," said Guest sharply. "I wanted to speak to you, sir, about him very serious, sir. Only yesterday, sir--" "Yes; go on, my good woman, go on. Is there anything fresh?" "Oh, yes, sir," said the woman, putting her apron to her eyes. "I know all about his love troubles from the first." "Yes, yes." "And how he was disappointed about having Miss Jerrold." "Well?" "And then, sir, when at last it was to come off, you see it was too much for him." "And he has turned a little ill. There, he will soon be better." "I hope so, sir," said Mrs Brade, shaking her head, "but I'm afraid." "Look here, you have seen or heard something to account, perhaps, for his sudden illness." "Don't call it illness, sir; the poor dear gentleman is mad." "Mrs Brade!" "It's a fact, sir, I assure you, and we may as well out with the truth." "Look here," said Guest, speaking hoarsely, for he felt startled at the woman's words, coinciding so exactly with horrible thoughts hidden in his own breast. "This is a very serious thing to say. What grounds have you for such an assertion?" "Well, sir, if you'll sit down I'll tell you." Guest reseated himself, feeling that if he wished to hear, he must let the woman go on in her own way. "I've always liked Mr Stratton, sir, since he's been here, and his name always putting me in mind of Lady Burdett Coutts' house at the corner of Strutton Street, where I have visited one of the servants."