as
dead and cold; and had been murdered, sir.'

'Only one drop of blood!' said Jonas.

'Sir, that man,' replied the doctor, 'had been stabbed to the heart.
Had been stabbed to the heart with such dexterity, sir, that he had
died instantly, and had bled internally. It was supposed that a
medical friend of his (to whom suspicion attached) had engaged him in
conversation on some pretence; had taken him, very likely, by the button
in a conversational manner; had examined his ground at leisure with
his other hand; had marked the exact spot; drawn out the instrument,
whatever it was, when he was quite prepared; and--'

'And done the trick,' suggested Jonas.

'Exactly so,' replied the doctor. 'It was quite an operation in its way,
and very neat. The medical friend never turned up; and, as I tell you,
he had the credit of it. Whether he did it or not I can't say.
But, having had the honour to be called in with two or three of my
professional brethren on the occasion, and having assisted to make a
careful examination of the wound, I have no hesitation in saying that
it would have reflected credit on any medical man; and that in an
unprofessional person it could not but be considered, either as an
extraordinary work of art, or the result of a still more extraordinary,
happy, and favourable conjunction of circumstances.'

His hearer was so much interested in this case, that the doctor went
on to elucidate it with the assistance of his own finger and thumb and
waistcoat; and at Jonas's request, he took the further trouble of going
into a corner of the room, and alternately representing the murdered
man and the murderer; which he did with great effect. The bottle being
emptied and the story done, Jonas was in precisely the same boisterous
and unusual state as when they had sat down. If, as Jobling theorized,
his good digestion were the cause, he must have been a very ostrich.

At dinner it was just the same; and after dinner too; though wine was
drunk in abundance, and various rich meats eaten. At nine o'clock it was
still the same. There being a lamp in the carriage, he swore they would
take a pack of cards, and a bottle of wine; and with these things under
his cloak, went down to the door.

'Out of the way, Tom Thumb, and get to bed!'

This was the salutation he bestowed on Mr Bailey, who, booted and
wrapped up, stood at the carriage door to help him in.

'To bed, sir! I'm a-going, too,' said Bailey.

He alighted quick