"To the fire, in which my spectral friend is taking the greatest possible interest."
Bob shrugged his shoulders. "It must be a long way off."
"We shall find it. Come!"
There was no excitement in the immediate neighborhood as we walked along in the direction of the fire, being guided by the glare in the sky. A few persons turned their eyes upward, and, remarking that there was a fire somewhere, passed on. Their indifference arose from the circumstance that they were in no danger; I could not help reflecting upon the selfishness of human nature which causes men to look unmoved upon tragedies in which they themselves are not involved. Being anxious to reach the spot quickly I called a cab, which in half an hour conveyed us to the corner of Stanmore Street, West. This was as far as the driver could go, the street being deluged with water, and blocked with fire engines and firemen. It had been a serious conflagration while it lasted, but the efforts made by the brigade to confine it to the house in which it broke out were successful. This one building, however, was completely gutted, even in that short space of time, and the enthralling incident in connection with it which was upon every man's tongue was that a gentleman had perished in the flames. From the remarks that reached my ears I gathered that the house had been let out as chambers, and that when the fire arose there were no other persons in it except the housekeeper and the gentleman who lived on the first floor. The housekeeper was saved; the gentleman was burned to death.
As I stood pondering, Bob at my side, the spectral figure of the cat at my feet, Bob asked, "Well, Ned, where's the connection?"
"Wait," I replied, rather irritably.
A woman, supported by two female friends, passed us. She was crying, and wringing her hands, and I learned that she was the housekeeper who had been saved. Instinctively I followed her, and my visible and invisible companions accompanied me. It was not a difficult matter to elicit from the housekeeper all the information it was in her power to impart. The gentleman who had met with so untimely an end was a single man, with few friends and no relations.
"I don't think," said the housekeeper, "that he had a brother, or a sister, or a cousin in the world; leastways, so far as I know, no one ever came to see him who had any claim upon him. He was a quiet gentleman, and didn't give no trouble. What do you want to know, sir? Was he very rich? All I can say is he always paid his way, and always seemed to have plenty and to spare. His name? Mr. Alfred Warner, sir. Are you a friend of his?"
"No," I replied--for it was I who had asked the questions to which she had replied--"I was not acquainted with him."
"What name did she say?" asked Bob, in a whisper.