"Coroner's court is on your right," he said; "mortuary chamber straight in front; post-mortem chamber slightly to the left; coroner's private office still more to left; jury room just here; apartment for storing coffins just there; stairway opposite leads to George's private chambers; dark object there is kennel, containing George's private dog; dark object here is George. How are you, George?"
The dark object referred to came closer, accompanied by a very small candle in a very large lamp, which it held up to the doctor's face, at the same time exhibiting its own, which was ox-like in character. "It's you," said the voice of the object at last. "I thought it might be somebody as was deceivin' theirself into playin' a lark on me. 'Ow are you, Doctor?"
At this the doctor and George shook hands with a great display of warmth, and George set down his lantern and produced a pipe, and slowly filled it, and slowly lighted it. "I thought it funny," he then remarked, between slow puffs, "as anybody should deceive theirselves into playing a lark on me. What is it to-night, Doctor?"
"Gregory the name is," replied my friend. "Inquest at ten o'clock to-morrow. I'm sorry to have you out at this time of night, but I couldn't possibly get round earlier."
"Not a word, Doctor," responded George, as he shook the raindrops from his cap. "This ain't the latest p.m. I done by many. Let me see now—Gregory? It'll be that middle-aged job from Wallflower Street, what? Come in this arternoon. What?"
"That's the case," responded Dr. Brink.
"Then," said George, "I'm ready when you are, Doctor. What do you suspect?"
He moved off up the yard, the doctor following.
"I'll wait here," said your servant.
"That's right," assented the doctor. "I'm not going farther than the doorway myself."