Now do those two gentlemen not very neat about the cuffs andbuttons who attended the last coroner's inquest at the Sol's Armsreappear in the precincts with surprising swiftness (being, infact, breathlessly fetched by the active and intelligent beadle),and institute perquisitions through the court, and dive into theSol's parlour, and write with ravenous little pens on tissue-paper.

　　Now do they note down, in the watches of the night, how theneighbourhood of Chancery Lane was yesterday, at about midnight,thrown into a state of the most intense agitation and excitement bythe following alarming and horrible discovery. Now do they setforth how it will doubtless be remembered that some time back apainful sensation was created in the public mind by a case ofmysterious death from opium occurring in the first floor of thehouse occupied as a rag, bottle, and general marine store shop, byan eccentric individual of intemperate habits, far advanced inlife, named Krook; and how, by a remarkable coincidence, Krook wasexamined at the inquest, which it may be recollected was held onthat occasion at the Sol's Arms, a well-conducted tavernimmediately adjoining the premises in question on the west side andlicensed to a highly respectable landlord, Mr. James George Bogsby.

　　Now do they show (in as many words as possible) how during somehours of yesterday evening a very peculiar smell was observed bythe inhabitants of the court, in which the tragical occurrencewhich forms the subject of that present account transpired; andwhich odour was at one time so powerful that Mr. Swills, a comicvocalist professionally engaged by Mr. J. G. Bogsby, has himselfstated to our reporter that he mentioned to Miss M. Melvilleson, alady of some pretensions to musical ability, likewise engaged byMr. J. G. Bogsby to sing at a series of concerts called HarmonicAssemblies, or Meetings, which it would appear are held at theSol's Arms under Mr. Bogsby's direction pursuant to the Act ofGeorge the Second, that he (Mr. Swills) found his voice seriouslyaffected by the impure state of the atmosphere, his jocoseexpression 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. Swillsis entirely corroborated by two intelligent married femalesresiding in the same court and known respectively by the names ofMrs. Piper and Mrs. Perkins, both of whom observed the foetideffluvia and regarded them as being emitted from the premises inthe occupation of Krook, the unfortunate deceased. All this and agreat deal more the two gentlemen who have formed an amicablepartnership in the melancholy catastrophe write down on the spot;and the boy population of the court (out of bed in a moment) swarmup the shutters of the Sol's Arms parlour, to behold the tops oftheir heads while they are about it.

　　The whole court, adult as well as boy, is sleepless for that night,and can do nothing but wrap up its many heads, and talk of the ill-fated house, and look at it. Miss Flite has been bravely rescuedfrom her chamber, as if it were in flames, and accommodated with abed at the Sol's Arms. The Sol neither turns off its gas nor shutsits door all night, for any kind of public excitement makes goodfor the Sol and causes the court to stand in need of comfort. Thehouse has not done so much in the stomachic article of cloves or inbrandy-and-water warm since the inquest. The moment the pot-boyheard what had happened, he rolled up his shirt-sleeves tight tohis shoulders and said, "There'll be a run upon us!" In the firstoutcry, young Piper dashed off for the fire-engines and returned intriumph at a jolting gallop perched up aloft on the Phoenix andholding on to that fabulous creature with all his might in themidst of helmets and torches. One helmet remains behind aftercareful investigation of all chinks and crannies and slowly pacesup and down before the house in company with one of the twopolicemen who have likewise been left in charge thereof. To thistrio everybody in the court possessed of sixpence has an insatiatedesire to exhibit hospitality in a liquid form.

　　Mr. Weevle and his friend Mr. Guppy are within the bar at the Soland are worth anything to the Sol that the bar contains if theywill only stay there. "This is not a time, says Mr. Bogsby, "tohaggle about money," though he looks something sharply after it,over the counter; "give your orders, you two gentlemen, and you'rewelcome to whatever you put a name to."Thus entreated, the two gentlemen (Mr. Weevle especially) put namesto so many things that in course of time they find it difficult toput a name to anything quite distinctly, though they still relateto 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 thedoor, and pushing it open a little way at the full length of hisarm, 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 outof bed through the unwonted hours, still treating and beingtreated, still conducting itself similarly to a court that has hada little money left it unexpectedly. Thus night at length withslow-retreating steps departs, and the lamp-lighter going hisrounds, like an executioner to a despotic king, strikes off thelittle 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 thecourt has been up all night. Over and above the faces that havefallen drowsily on tables and the heels that lie prone on hardfloors instead of beds, the brick and mortar physiognomy of thevery court itself looks worn and jaded. And now the neighbourhood,waking up and beginning to hear of what has happened, comesstreaming in, half dressed, to ask questions; and the two policemenand the helmet (who are far less impressible externally than thecourt) have enough to do to keep the door.

　　"Good gracious, gentlemen!" says Mr. Snagsby, coming up. "What'sthis I hear!""Why, it's true," returns one of the policemen. "That's what itis. Now move on here, come!""Why, good gracious, gentlemen," says Mr. Snagsby, somewhatpromptly backed away, "I was at this door last night betwixt tenand eleven o'clock in conversation with the young man who lodgeshere.""Indeed?" returns the policeman. "You will find the young man nextdoor 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 question in histroubled mind, repairs to the Sol's Arms and finds Mr. Weevlelanguishing over tea and toast with a considerable expression onhim 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. Snagsby's power of speech deserts him in the formation of thewords "my little woman." For to see that injured female walk intothe Sol's Arms at that hour of the morning and stand before thebeer-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 youtake anything? A little--not to put too fine a point upon it--dropof shrub?""No," says Mrs. Snagsby.

　　"My love, you know these two gentlemen?""Yes!" says Mrs. Snagsby, and in a rigid manner acknowledges theirpresence, 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 doit.""I can't help my looks," says Mrs. Snagsby, "and if I could Iwouldn't."Mr. Snagsby, with his cough of meekness, rejoins, "Wouldn't youreally, my dear?" and meditates. Then coughs his cough of troubleand says, "This is a dreadful mystery, my love!" still fearfullydisconcerted by Mrs. Snagsby's eye.

　　"It IS," returns Mrs. Snagsby, shaking her head, "a dreadfulmystery.""My little woman," urges Mr. Snagsby in a piteous manner, "don'tfor goodness' sake speak to me with that bitter expression and lookat me in that searching way! I beg and entreat of you not to doit. Good Lord, you don't suppose that I would go spontaneouslycombusting any person, my dear?""I can't say," returns Mrs. Snagsby.

　　On a hasty review of his unfortunate position, Mr. Snagsby "can'tsay" either. He is not prepared positively to deny that he mayhave had something to do with it. He has had something--he don'tknow what--to do with so much in this connexion that is mysteriousthat it is possible he may even be implicated, without knowing it,in the present transaction. He faintly wipes his forehead with hishandkerchief and gasps.

　　"My life," says the unhappy stationer, "would you have anyobjections to mention why, being in general so delicatelycircumspect in your conduct, you come into a wine-vaults beforebreakfast?""Why do YOU come here?" inquires Mrs. Snagsby.

　　"My dear, merely to know the rights of the fatal accident which hashappened to the venerable party who has been--combusted." Mr.

　　Snagsby has made a pause to suppress a groan. "I should then haverelated 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 hisincreased confusion with a severe and sinister smile, "if you wouldcome 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 togo."Mr. Snagsby casts his eye forlornly round the bar, gives Messrs.

　　Weevle and Guppy good morning, assures them of the satisfactionwith which he sees them uninjured, and accompanies Mrs. Snagsbyfrom the Sol's Arms. Before night his doubt whether he may not beresponsible for some inconceivable part in the catastrophe which isthe talk of the whole neighbourhood is almost resolved intocertainty by Mrs. Snagsby's pertinacity in that fixed gaze. Hismental sufferings are so great that he entertains wandering ideasof delivering himself up to justice and requiring to be cleared ifinnocent and punished with the utmost rigour of the law if guilty.

　　Mr. Weevle and Mr. Guppy, having taken their breakfast, step intoLincoln's Inn to take a little walk about the square and clear asmany of the dark cobwebs out of their brains as a little walk may.

　　"There can be no more favourable time than the present, Tony," saysMr. Guppy after they have broodingly made out the four sides of thesquare, "for a word or two between us upon a point on which wemust, with very little delay, come to an understanding.""Now, I tell you what, William G.!" returns the other, eyeing hiscompanion with a bloodshot eye. "If it's a point of conspiracy,you needn't take the trouble to mention it. I have had enough ofthat, and I ain't going to have any more. We shall have YOU takingfire next or blowing up with a bang."This supposititious phenomenon is so very disagreeable to Mr. Guppythat his voice quakes as he says in a moral way, "Tony, I shouldhave thought that what we went through last night would have been alesson to you never to be personal any more as long as you lived."To which Mr. Weevle returns, "William, I should have thought itwould have been a lesson to YOU never to conspire any more as longas you lived." To which Mr. Guppy says, "Who's conspiring?" Towhich Mr. Jobling replies, "Why, YOU are!" To which Mr. Guppyretorts, "No, I am not." To which Mr. Jobling retorts again, "Yes,you are!" To which Mr. Guppy retorts, "Who says so?" To which Mr.

　　Jobling retorts, "I say so!" To which Mr. Guppy retorts, "Oh,indeed?" To which Mr. Jobling retorts, "Yes, indeed!" And bothbeing now in a heated state, they walk on silently for a while tocool down again.

　　"Tony," says Mr. Guppy then, "if you heard your friend out insteadof flying at him, you wouldn't fall into mistakes. But your temperis hasty and you are not considerate. Possessing in yourself,Tony, all that is calculated to charm the eye--""Oh! Blow the eye!" cries Mr. Weevle, cutting him short. "Say whatyou have got to say!"Finding his friend in this morose and material condition, Mr. Guppyonly expresses the finer feelings of his soul through the tone ofinjury in which he recommences, "Tony, when I say there is a pointon which we must come to an understanding pretty soon, I say soquite apart from any kind of conspiring, however innocent. Youknow it is professionally arranged beforehand in all cases that aretried what facts the witnesses are to prove. Is it or is it notdesirable that we should know what facts we are to prove on theinquiry into the death of this unfortunate old mo--gentleman?"(Mr. Guppy was going to say "mogul," but thinks "gentleman" bettersuited to the circumstances.)"What facts? THE facts.""The facts bearing on that inquiry. Those are"--Mr. Guppy tellsthem off on his fingers--"what we knew of his habits, when you sawhim 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 hiseccentric way, an appointment with you at twelve o'clock at night,when you were to explain some writing to him as you had often donebefore on account of his not being able to read. I, spending theevening with you, was called down--and so forth. The inquiry beingonly into the circumstances touching the death of the deceased,it's not necessary to go beyond these facts, I suppose you'llagree?""No!" returns Mr. Weevle. "I suppose not.""And this is not a conspiracy, perhaps?" says the injured Guppy.

　　"No," returns his friend; "if it's nothing worse than this, Iwithdraw the observation.""Now, Tony," says Mr. Guppy, taking his arm again and walking himslowly on, "I should like to know, in a friendly way, whether youhave yet thought over the many advantages of your continuing tolive at that place?""What do you mean?" says Tony, stopping.

　　"Whether you have yet thought over the many advantages of yourcontinuing to live at that place?" repeats Mr. Guppy, walking himon again.

　　"At what place? THAT place?" pointing in the direction of the ragand bottle shop.

　　Mr. Guppy nods.

　　"Why, I wouldn't pass another night there for any considerationthat you could offer me," says Mr. Weevle, haggardly staring.

　　"Do you mean it though, Tony?""Mean it! Do I look as if I mean it? I feel as if I do; I knowthat," says Mr. Weevle with a very genuine shudder.

　　"Then the possibility or probability--for such it must beconsidered--of your never being disturbed in possession of thoseeffects lately belonging to a lone old man who seemed to have norelation in the world, and the certainty of your being able to findout what he really had got stored up there, don't weigh with you atall 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.""Oh! I, Tony!" says Mr. Guppy, soothing him. "I have never livedthere and couldn't get a lodging there now, whereas you have gotone.""You are welcome to it," rejoins his friend, "and--ugh!--you maymake yourself at home in it.""Then you really and truly at this point," says Mr. Guppy, "give upthe whole thing, if I understand you, Tony?""You never," returns Tony with a most convincing steadfastness,"said a truer word in all your life. I do!"While they are so conversing, a hackney-coach drives into thesquare, on the box of which vehicle a very tall hat makes itselfmanifest to the public. Inside the coach, and consequently not somanifest to the multitude, though sufficiently so to the twofriends, for the coach stops almost at their feet, are thevenerable Mr. Smallweed and Mrs. Smallweed, accompanied by theirgranddaughter Judy.

　　An air of haste and excitement pervades the party, and as the tallhat (surmounting Mr. Smallweed the youn............