. Look in the newspapers.

SUSAN
Fiddle of the newspapers, who else can it be?

BOTH
That is very true (_gravely_).

_Enter Landlord_.

LANDLORD
Here, Susan, James, Philip, where are you all? The London coach is come
in, and there is Mr. Fillaside, the fat passenger, has been bawling for
somebody to help him off with his boots. (_The Chambermaid and Waiters
slip out_.)

(_Solus_.) The house is turned upside down since the strange
gentleman came into it. Nothing but guessing and speculating, and
speculating and guessing; waiters and chambermaids getting into corners
and speculating, ostlers and stable-boys speculating in the yard, I
believe the very horses in the stable are speculating too, for there
they stand in a musing posture, nothing for them to eat, and not
seeming to care whether thay have any thing or no; and after all what
does it signify? I hate such curious--odso, I must take this box up into
his bed-room--he charged me to see to it myself--I hate such
inquisitive--I wonder what is in it, it feels heavy (_Reads_) "Leases,
title deeds, wills." Here now a man might satisfy his curiosity at once.
Deeds must have names to them, so must leases and wills. But I
wouldn't--no I wouldn't--it is a pretty box too--prettily dovetailed--I
admire the fashion of it much. But I'd cut my fingers off, before I'd do
such a dirty--what have I to do--curse the keys, how they rattle--rattle
in one's pockets--the keys and the halfpence (_takes out a bunch and
plays with them_). I wounder if any of these would fit; one might just
try them, but I wouldn't lift up the lid if they did. Oh no, what should
I be the richer for knowing? (_All this time he tries the keys one by
one_.) What's his name to me? a thousand names begin with an H. I hate
people that are always prying, poking and prying into things,--thrusting
their finger into one place--a mighty little hole this--and their keys
into another. Oh Lord! little rusty fits it! but what is that to me? I
wouldn't go to--no no--but it is odd little rusty should just happen.
(_While he is turning up the lid of the box_, MR. H. _enters behing him
unperceived_.)

MR. H.
What are you about, you dog?

LANDLORD
Oh Lord, Sir! pardon; no thief as I hope to be saved. Little Pry was
always honest.

MR. H.
What else could move you to open that box!

LANDLORD
Sir, don't kill me, and I will confess the whole truth. This box
happened to be lying--that is, I happened to be carrying th