before the fire. There is very little fire Is he hanging somewhere? look up. No. They "See!" whispers Tony. "At the foot of the same chair, there lies & dirty bit of thin red cord that they tie up pens with. That went round the letters. He undid it slowly, leering and laughing at me, before he began to turn them over, and threw it there. I saw it fall." "What's the matter with the cat?" says Mr. Guppy. "Look at her!" "Mad, I think. And no wonder, in this evil place." They advance slowly, looking at all these things. The cat remains where they found her, still snarling at the something on the ground, before the fire and between the two chairs. What is it? Hold up the light. Here is a small burnt patch of flooring; here is the tinder from a little bundle of burnt paper, but not so light as usual, seeming to be steeped in something; and here is—is it the cinder of a small charred and broken log of wood sprinkled with white ashes, or is it coal? O Horror, he is here! and this, from which we run away, striking out the light and overturning one another into the street, is all that represents him. Help, help, help! come into this house for Heaven's sake! Plenty will come in, but none can help. The Lord Chancellor of that Court, true to his title in his last act, has died the death of all Lord Chancellors in all Courts, and of all authorities in all places under all names soever, where false pretences are made, and where injustice is done. Call the death by any name Your Highness will, attribute it to whom you will, or say it might have been prevented how you will, it is the same death eternallyinborn, inbred, engendered in the corrupted humours of the vicious body itself, and that only - Spontaneous Combustion, and none other of all the deaths that can be died. CHAPTER XXXIII. INTERLOPERS. Now do those two gentlemen not very | neighbourhood of Chancery Lane was neat about the cuffs and buttons who yesterday, at about midnight, thrown attended the last Coroner's Inquest at into a state of the most intense agitathe Sol's Arms, reappear in the pre- tion and excitement by the following cincts with surprising swiftness (being, alarming and horrible discovery. Now in fact, breathlessly fetched by the do they set forth how it will doubtless active and intelligent beadle), and be remembered, that some time back a institute perquisitions through the painful sensation was created in the court, and dive into the Sol's parlour, public mind, by a case of mysterious and write with ravenous little pens on death from opium occurring in the first tissue-paper. Now do they note down, floor of the house occupied as a rag, in the watches of the night, how the bottle, and general marine store shop, and look at it. Miss Flite has been bravely rescued from her chamber, as if it were in flames, and accommodated with a bed at the Sol's Arms. The Sol neither turns off its gas nor shuts its door, all night; for any kind of public excitement makes good for the Sol, and causes the court to stand in need of comfort. The house has not done so much in the stomachic article of cloves, or in brandy and water warm, since the Inquest. The moment the potboy heard what had happened, he rolled up hir shirt-sleeves tight to his shoulders, and said, "There'll be a run upon us!" In the first outcry, Young Piper dashed off for the fire-engines; and returned in triumph at a jolting gallop, perched up aloft on the Phoenix, and holding on to that fabulous creature with all his might, in the midst of helmets and torches. One helmet remains behind, after careful investigation of all chinks and crannies; and slowly paces up and down before the house, in company with one of the two policemen who have been likewise left in charge thereof. To this trio, everybody in the court, possessed of sixpence, has an insatiate desire to exhibit hospitality in a liquid form. by an eccentric individual of intempe- | boy, is sleepless for that right, and can rate habits, far advanced in life, named do nothing but wrap up its many Krook; and how, by a remarkable heads, and talk of the ill-fated house, coincidence, Krook was examined at the inquest, which it may be recollected was held on that occasion at the Sol's Arms, a well-conducted tavern, immediately adjoining the premises in question, on the west side, and licensed to a highly respectable landlord, Mr. James George Bogsby. Now do they show (in as many words as possible), how during some hours of yesterday evening a very peculiar smell was observed by the inhabitants of the court, in which the tragical occurrence which forms the subject of that present account transpired; and which odour was at one time so powerful, that Mr. Swills, a comic vocalist, professionally engaged by Mr. J. G. Bogsby, has himself stated to our reporter that he mentioned to Miss M. Melvilleson, a lady of some pretensions to musical ability, likewise engaged by Mr. J. G. Bogsby to sing at a series of concerts called Harmonic Assemblies or Meetings, which it would appear are held at the Sol's Arms, under Mr. Bogsby's direction, pursuant to the Act of George the Second, that he (Mr. Swills) found his voice seriously affected by the impure state of the atmosphere; his jocose expression, at the time, being, "that he was like an empty post-office, for he hadn't a single note in him." How this account of Mr. Swills is entirely corroborated by two intelligent married females residing in the same court, and known respectively by the names of Mrs. Piper and Mrs. Perkins; both of whom observed the foetid effluvia, and regarded them as being emitted from the premises in the occupation of Krook, the unfortunate deceased. All this and a great deal more, the two gentlemen, who have formed an amicable partnership in the melancholy catastrophe, write down on the spot; and the boy population of the court (out of bed in a moment) swarm up the shutters of the Sol's Arms parlor, to behold the tops of their heads while they are about it. The whole court, adult as well as Mr. Weevle and his friend Mr. Guppy are within the bar at the Sol, and are worth anything to the Sol that the bar contains, if they will only stay there. "This is not a time," says Mr. Bogsby, "to haggle about money," though he looks something sharply after it, over the counter; "give your orders, you two gentlemen, and you're welcome to whatever you put a name to." Thus entreated, the two gentlemen (Mr. Weevle especially) put names to so many things, that in course of time they find it difficult to put a name to anything quite distinctly; though they still relate, to all new comers, some version of the night they have had of it, and of what they said, and what they thought, and what they saw. Meanwhile, one or other of the policemen often flits about the door, and pushing it open a little way at the full length of his arm, looks in from outer gloom. Not that he has any suspicions, but that he may as well know what they are up to, in there. Thus, night pursues its leaden course; finding the court still out of bed through the unwonted hours, still treating and being treated, still conducting itself similarly to a court that has had a little money left it unexpectedly. Thus, night at length with slow-retreating steps departs, and the lamplighter going his rounds, like an executioner to a despotic king, strikes off the little heads of fire that have aspired to lessen the darkness. Thus, the day cometh, whether or no. And the day may discern, even with its dim London eye, that the court has been up all night. Over and above the faces that have fallen drowsily on tables, and the heels that lie prone on hard floors instead of beds, the brick and mortar physiognomy of the very court itself looks worl nd jaded. And now the neighbourhood waking up, and beginning to hear of what has happened, comes streaming in, half-dressed, to ask questions; and the two policemen and the helmet (who are far less impressible externally than the court) have enough to do to keep the door. 'Good gracious, gentlemen!" says Mr. Snagsby, coming up. "What's this I hear!" "Why, it's true," returns one of the policemen. "That's what it is. Now move on here, come !" "Why, good gracious gentlemen," says Mr. Snagsby, somewhat prompt y backed away, "I was at this door last night betwixt ten and eleven o'clock, in conversation with the young man who lodges here." "Indeed?" returns the policeman. "You will find the young man next door then. Now move on here, some of you." "Not hurt, I hope?" says Mr. Snagsby. Hurt? No. What's to hurt him!" Mr. Snagsby, wholly unable to answer this, or any other question, in his troubled mind, repairs to the Sol's Arms, and finds Mr. Weevle languishing over tea and toast; with a considerable expression on him of exhausted excitement, and exhausted tobacco-smoke. "And Mr. Guppy likewise!" quoth Mr. Snagsby. "Dear, dear, dear! What a fate there seems in all this! And my lit—” Mr. Snageby's power of speech deserts him in the formation of the words "my little woman.' For, to see that injured female walk into the Sol's Arms at that hour of the morning and stand before the beer-engine, with her eyes fixed upon him like an accusing spirit, strikes him dumb. "My dear," says Mr. Snagsby, when his tongue is loosened, "will you take anything? A little--not to put too fine a point upon it-drop of shrub ?" "No," says Mrs. Snagsby. "My love, you know these two gentlemen ?" "Yes!" says Mrs. Snagsby; and in a rigid manner acknowledges their presence, still fixing Mr. Snagsby with her eye. The devoted Mr. Snagsby cannot bear this treatment. He takes Mrs. Snagsby by the hand, and leads her aside to an adjacent cask. "My little woman, why do you look at me in that way? Pray don't do it." "I can't help my looks," says Mrs. Snagsby, "and if I could I wouldn't." Mr. Snagsby with his cough of meekness, rejoins,- -"Wouldn't you really, my dear?" and meditates. Then coughs his cough of trouble, and says, "This is a dreadful mystery, my love!" still fearfully disconcerted by Mrs. Snagsby's eye. "don't "It is," returns Mrs. Snagsby, shaking her head, "a dreadful mystery." "My little woman," urges Mr. Snagsby, in a piteous manner, for goodness sake, speak to me with that bitter expression, and look at me in that searching way! I beg and entreat of you not to do it. Good lord, you don't suppose that I would go spontaneously combusting any person, my dear?" "I can't say," returns Mrs. Snagsby. On a hasty review of his unfortunate position, Mr. Snagsby "can't say,' either. He is not prepared positively to deny that he may have had something to do with it. He has had something -he don't know what to do with so much in this connexion that is myste rious, that it is possible he may even be implicated, without knowing it, in the present transaction. He faintly wipes his forehead with his handkerchief, and gasps. "My life," says the unhappy stationer," would you have any objections to mention why, being in general so delicately circumspect in your conduct, you come into a Wine Vaults before breakfast?" "Why do you come here?" inquires Mrs. Snagsby. "My dear, merely to know the rights of the fatal accident which has happened to the venerable party who has beencombusted." Mr. Snagsby has made a cause to suppress a groan. "I should then have related them to you, my love, over your French roll." "I dare say you would! You relate everything to me, Mr. Snagsby." "Every-my lit—?” "I should be glad," says Mrs. Snagsby, after contemplating his increased confusion with a severe and sinister smile, "if you would come home with me; I think you may be safer there, Mr. Snagsby, than anywhere else." "My love, I don't know but what I may be, I am sure. I am ready to go." Mr. Snagsby casts his eyes forlornly round the bar, gives Messrs. Weevle and Guppy good morning, assures them of the satisfaction with which he sees them uninjured, and accompanies Mrs. Snagsby from the Sol's Arms. Before night, his doubt whether he may not be responsible for some inconceivable part in the catastrophe which is the talk of the whole neighbourhood, is almost resolved into certainty by Mrs. Snagsby's pertinacity in that fixed gaze. His mental sufferings are so great, that he entertains wandering ideas of delivering himself up to justice, and requiring to be cleared, if innocent, and punished with the utmost rigor of the law, if guilty. Mr. Weevle and Mr. Guppy, having taken their breakfast, step into Lincoln's Inn to take a little walk about the square, and clear as many of the dark cobwebs out of their brains as a little walk may. "There can be no more favorable time than the present, Tony," says Mr. Guppy, after they have broodingly made out the four sides of the square, "for a word or two between us, upon a point on which we must, with very little delay, come to an understanding." "Now, I tell you what, William G. !" returns the other, eyeing his companion with a bloodshot eye. If it's a point of conspiracy, you needn't take the trouble to mention it. I have had enough of that, and I ain't going to have any more. We shall have you tak. ing fire next, or blowing up with a bang." This supposititious phenomenon is so very disagreeable to Mr. Guppy that his voice quakes, as he says in a moral way, "Tony, I should have thought that what we went through last night, would have been a lesson to you never to be personal_any more as long as you lived." To which Mr. Weevle returns, "William, I should have thought it would have been a lesson to you never to conspire any more as leng as you lived." To which Mr. Guppy says, "Who's conspiring?" To which Mr. Jobling replies. "Why, you are!" To which Mr. Guppy retorts, "No, I am not." To which Mr. Jobling retorts again, "Yes, you are!" To which Mr. Guppy retorts, "Who says so?" which Mr. Jobling retorts, "I say so!" To which Mr. Guppy retorts, "Oh, indeed?" To which Mr. Jobling retorts, "Yes, indeed!" And both being now in a heated state, they walk on silently for a while, to cool down again. To "Tony," says Mr. Guppy, then, "if you heard your friend out, instead of flying at him, you wouldn't fall into mistakes. But your temper is basty, and you are not considerate. Possessing in yourself, Tony, all that is calculated to charm the eye-” "Oh! Blow the eye!" cries Mr. "Tony, when I say there is a point on which we must come to an understanding pretty soon, I say so quite apart from any kind of conspiring, however innocent. You know it is professionally arranged beforehand, in all cases that are tried, what facts the witnesses are to prove. Is it, or is it not, desirable that we should know what facts we are to prove, on the inquiry into the death of this unfortunate old Mo- gentleman?" (Mr. Guppy was going to say, Mogul, but thinks gentleman better suited to the circumstances.) "What facts? The facts." "The facts bearing on that inquiry. Those are " Mr. Guppy tells them off on his fingers-"what we knew of his habits; when you saw him last; what his condition was then; the discovery that we made, and how we made it." "Yes," says Mr. Weevle. "Those are about the facts." "We made the discovery, in consequence of his having, in his eccentric way, an appointment with you at twelve o'clock at night, when you were to explain some writing to him, as you had often done before, on account of his not being able to read. I, spending the evening with you, was called down and so forth. The inquiry being only into the circumstances touching the death of the deceased, it's not necessary to go beyond these facts, I suppose you'll agree?" "No!" returns Mr. Weevle. suppose not." "I "And this is not a conspiracy, perhaps?" says the injured Guppy. "No," returns his friend; "if it's nothing worse than this, I withdraw the observation.' "Now, Tony," says Mr. Guppy, taking his arm again, and walking him slowly on, "I should like to know, in friendly way, whether you have yet "Then the possibility, or probability -for such it must be considered-of your never being disturbed in possession of those effects, lately belonging to a lone old man who seemed to have no relation in the world; and the certainty of your being able to find out what he really had got stored up there; don't weigh with you at all against last night, Tony, if I understand you?" says Mr. Guppy, biting his thumb with the appetite of vexation. "Certainly not. Talk in that cool way of a fellow's living there?" cries Mr. Weevle, indignantly. "Go and live there yourself." "O I, Tony!" says Mr. Guppy, soothing him. "I have never lived there, and couldn't get a lodging there now; whereas you have got one." "You are welcome to it," rejoins his friend, "and-ugh!-you may make yourself at home in it." "Then you really and truly at this point," says Mr. Guppy, "give up the whole thing, if I understand you, Tony?" "You never," returns Tony, with a most convincing stedfastness, "said a truer word in all your life. I do!" While they are so conversing, a hackney-coach drives into the square, on the box of which vehicle a very tall hat makes itself manifest to the public. Inside the coach, and consequently not |