‘I don’t like him,’ he said bluntly, ‘he’s an old devil.’
‘Oh, it’s always as well to accustom oneself to the society of devils,’ retorted Vandeloup, coolly, ‘we may have to live with them constantly some day.’
Barty laughed at this, and putting his arm in that of Vandeloup’s, they went in.
Slivers’ door stood ajar in its usual hospitable manner, but all within was dark.
‘He must be out,’ said Barty, as they stood in the dark passage.
‘No,’ replied Vandeloup, feeling for a match, ‘someone is talking in the office.’
‘It’s that parrot,’ said Barty, with a laugh, as they heard Billy rapidly running over his vocabulary; ‘let’s go in.’
He pushed open the door, and was about to step into the room, when catching sight of something on the floor, he recoiled with a cry, and caught Vandeloup by the arm.
‘What’s the matter?’ asked the Frenchman, hastily.
‘He’s dead,’ returned Barty, with a sort of gasp; ‘see, he’s lying on the floor dead!’