"His name was Richard," said Mrs. Timber suspiciously.
"I know it, I know it. I use the appellation Jonathan merely in illustration of the close friendship which was between us. I am David."
"H'm!" snorted Mrs. Timber, eying him closely, "and who was Mr. Marlow?"
This leading question perplexed Mr. Gramp not a little, for he knew nothing about the man.
"What!" he cried, with simulated horror. "Reveal the secrets of the dead? Never! never!"
"Secrets?" repeated the lean stonemason eagerly. "Ah! I always thought Mr. Marlow had 'em. He looked over his shoulder too often for my liking. An' there was a look on his face frequent which pointed, I may say, to a violent death."
"Ah! say not that my friend Dick Marlow came to an untimely end."
This outcry came from Cicero; it was answered by Mrs. Timber.
"He died of a fit," she said tartly, "and that quietly enough, considering as Dr. Warrender can testify. But now we've talked enough, an' I'm going to lock up; so get out, all of you!"
In a few minutes the taproom was cleared and the lights out. Cicero, greatly depressed, lingered in the porch, wondering how to circumvent the dragon.