Koko had not arrived at the surgery when he got there. The fire was out--Mrs Brown, taking advantage of her master's absence, was probably carousing with other ladies of her own station. Mount Street appeared exceptionally sordid and forlorn. Everything seemed to have conspired to add to Jim's weight of sadness.
He lit the gas, and as it flared up he was slightly startled to observe the figure of a man huddled up on the sofa. On the floor, by the head of the sofa, stood an empty glass jar.
Jim walked across the room and inspected the sleeper. It was the old provision dealer.
"Wake up, Mr Harris!" he cried; "wake up! What are you doing here?"
The provision dealer slowly opened his eyes.
"Ain't I--ain't I dead, then?" he demanded.
"Dead? No! You're as alive as I am!"
"I thought I'd svallowed enough of the stuff to do the job."
"What stuff?"
"Vy, the prussic acid. That's deadly p'ison, ain't it?"