cco, so he charged his pipe, and
sat grim, white, and erect by the fire. It is not everyone that is
'happy thinking,' and the knight of the silver spectacles followed out
his solitary discourse, with his pipe between his lips, and saw all
sorts of things through the white narcotic smoke.

'It would not do to go off and leave affairs thus; a message might
follow me, eh? No; I'll stay and see it out, quite out. Sturk--Barnabas
Sturk. If he came to his speech for five minutes--hum--we'll see. I'll
speak with Mrs. Sturk about it--we must help him to his speech--a
prating fellow; 'tis hard he should hold his tongue; yes, we'll help him
to his speech; 'tis in the interest of justice--eternal justice--ha, ha,
the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Let Dr. Sturk be
sworn--ha, ha--magna est veritas--there is nothing hidden that shall not
be revealed; ha, ha. Let Dr. Sturk be called.'

So the white, thin phantom of the spectacles and tobacco pipe, sitting
upright by the fire, amused himself with a solitary banter. Then he
knocked the white ashes out upon the hob, stood up with his back to the
fire, in grim rumination, for about a minute, at the end of which he
unlocked his desk, and took forth a letter, with a large red seal. If
was more than two months old by this time, and was, in fact, that letter
from the London doctor which he had expected with some impatience.

It was not very long, and standing he read it through, and his white
face contracted, and darkened, and grew strangely intense and stern as
he did so.

''Tis devilish strong--ha, ha, ha--conclusive, indeed.' He was amused
again. 'I've kept it long enough--_igni reservata_.'

And holding it in the tongs, he lighted a corner, and as the last black
fragment of it, covered with creeping sparks, flew up the chimney, he
heard the voice of a gentleman hallooing in the court-yard.

CHAPTER LXXXI.

IN WHICH MR. DANGERFIELD RECEIVES A VISITOR, AND MAKES A CALL.

Dangerfield walked out and blandly greeted the visitor, who turned out
to be Mr. Justice Lowe.

'I give you good-morning, Sir; pray, alight and step in. Hallo, Doolan,
take Mr. Justice Lowe's horse.'

So Mr. Lowe thanked him, in his cold way, and bowing, strode into the
Brass Castle; and after the customary civilities, sat himself down, and
says he--

'I've been at the Crown Office, Sir, about this _murder_, we may call
it, upon Sturk, and I told them you could throw a light, as I t