-appearance of an individual; there must be proof that the party
has been murdered.

CHAPTER XV.

A PRAISER OF PAST TIMES.

----Now your traveller,
He and his toothpick at my worship's mess.

_King John._

The noise stated at the conclusion of last chapter to have disturbed Mr.
Bindloose, was the rapping of one, as in haste and impatience, at the
Bank-office door, which office was an apartment of the Banker's house,
on the left hand of his passage, as the parlour in which he had received
Mrs. Dods was upon the right.

In general, this office was patent to all having business there; but at
present, whatever might be the hurry of the party who knocked, the
clerks within the office could not admit him, being themselves made
prisoners by the prudent jealousy of Mr. Bindloose, to prevent them from
listening to his consultation with Mrs. Dods. They therefore answered
the angry and impatient knocking of the stranger only with stifled
giggling from within, finding it no doubt an excellent joke, that their
master's precaution was thus interfering with their own discharge of
duty.

With one or two hearty curses upon them, as the regular plagues of his
life, Mr. Bindloose darted into the passage, and admitted the stranger
into his official apartment. The doors both of the parlour and office
remaining open, the ears of Luckie Dods (experienced, as the reader
knows, in collecting intelligence) could partly overhear what passed.
The conversation seemed to regard a cash transaction of some importance,
as Meg became aware when the stranger raised a voice which was naturally
sharp and high, as he did when uttering the following words, towards the
close of a conversation which had lasted about five minutes--"Premium?--Not
a pice, sir--not a courie--not a farthing--premium for a Bank of England
bill?--d'ye take me for a fool, sir?--do not I know that you call forty
days par when you give remittances to London?"

Mr. Bindloose was here heard to mutter something indistinctly about the
custom of the trade.

"Custom!" retorted the stranger, "no such thing--damn'd bad custom, if
it is one--don't tell me of customs--'Sbodikins, man, I know the rate of
exchange all over the world, and have drawn bills from Timbuctoo--My
friends in the Strand filed it along with Bruce's from Gondar--talk to
me of premium on a Bank of England post-bill!--What d'ye look at the
bill for?--D'ye think it doubtful--I can change it."

"By n