"And you're certain she's dead?"
"Yes, sure, sir," and she sobbed on.
"Stop that," he said, sternly, "just a moment—thanks. I want to see Mr. Dingwell, the old gentleman who has been staying here—where is he?"
"In the drawing-room, sir, please," said the child, a good deal frightened. And to the drawing-room he mounted.
Light was streaming from a door a little open, and a fragrance also of a peculiar tobacco, which he recognised as that of Mr. Dingwell's chibouque. There was a sound of feet upon the floor of the room above, which Mr. Larkin's ear received as those of persons employed in arranging the dead body.
I would be perhaps wronging Mr. Dingwell, as I still call him, to say that he smoked like a man perfectly indifferent. On the contrary, his countenance looked lowering and furious—so much so that Mr. Larkin removed his hat, a courtesy which he had intended studiously to omit.
"Oh! Mr. Dingwell," said he, "I need not introduce myself."
"No, I prefer your withdrawing yourself and shutting the door," said Dingwell.
"Yes, in a moment, sir. I merely wish to mention that Lord Verney—I mean your brother, sir—has fully apprized me of the conversation with which you thought it prudent to favour him."
"You'd rather have been the medium yourself, I fancy. Something to be made of such a situation? Hey! but you shan't."