"But it wasn't an enigma to my poor friend when the stiff 'un suddenly put a cold hand upon his. However, in two words, do you know a person called Michael Martin?"
"Michael Martin!" cried the stock-broker. "Speak—what has become of him?"
"He has been ill—"
"Ill! poor old man! and I not to know it!"
"Worse than that! He died—"
"Died! Where—when?"
"Died—and was buried."
"Trifle not with me. When did he die? where is he buried?"
"He died—was buried—and came to life again!" said the stranger, with the most provoking coolness.
"Sir," exclaimed Tomlinson, advancing towards his visitor, and speaking in a firm and emphatic manner, "if you have called to tell me any thing concerning Michael Martin, speak without mystification."