“His body was never found, and I, having had enough of Mersey-street, moved my quarters, much to the regret of Mr. Moss, for, quoth he, ‘Two of ’em are at Portland, and another at the bottom of the river—so you may call me a Jew if any one troubles you again.’
“But I went; and the office is still without a tenant, and I shudder when I pass through the street at night, and, looking up, see the two black shining windows, like two great eyes watching me, and fancy I can see a shadowy form in rags pressing his face to the glass, and gibbering and bowing at the busy stream of human life which surges to and fro for ever.”
When the narrator had brought his story to a conclusion, there was a dead silence for a brief period. The cardplayers had been so interested that their game had been carried on in a loose, desultory manner, and the whole of Peace’s guests were more or less wonder-struck.
“You know how to enchain your hearers’ attention, sir,” observed our hero.
“What I have been telling you is simply a narrative of facts, and, as I before observed, it proves the truth of the old adage that ‘truth is strange—stranger than fiction;’ but I have to apologise for so rudely interrupting the game.”
“There is no occasion for apologies, sir,” said a Peckham tradesman, who formed one of the party, “for the account you have given is one which, I think, all of us would have been sorry to have missed.”
“I think we shall all of us agree in that,” observed Peace.
“But this is a social evening, and all I desire is to see everyone enjoy themselves.”
“You might vary the entertainment with a little music, Mr. Thompson,” said Bandy-legged Bill. “After this perhaps some other gentleman will tell us another story.”
“I am at your disposal, gentlemen,” returned our hero. “If you desire to hear a little music, so be it; but with your permission I will just put some of my pets through their paces.”