Finding his friend in this morose and material condition, Mr. Guppy only expresses the finer feelings of his soul through the tone of injury in which he recommences, “Tony, when I say there is a point on which we must come to an understanding pretty soon, I say so quite apart from any kind of conspiring, however innocent.  You know it is professionally arranged beforehand in all cases that are tried what facts the witnesses are to prove.  Is it or is it not desirable that we should know what facts we are to prove on the inquiry into the death of this unfortunate old mo—­gentleman?” (Mr. Guppy was going to say “mogul,” but thinks “gentleman” better suited to the circumstances.)

“What facts?  The facts.”

“The facts bearing on that inquiry.  Those are”—­Mr. Guppy tells them off on his fingers—­“what we knew of his habits, when you saw him last, what his condition was then, the discovery that we made, and how we made it.”

“Yes,” says Mr. Weevle.  “Those are about the facts.”

“We made the discovery in consequence of his having, in his eccentric way, an appointment with you at twelve o’clock at night, when you were to explain some writing to him as you had often done before on account of his not being able to read.  I, spending the evening with you, was called down—­and so forth.  The inquiry being only into the circumstances touching the death of the deceased, it’s not necessary to go beyond these facts, I suppose you’ll agree?”

“No!” returns Mr. Weevle.  “I suppose not.”

“And this is not a conspiracy, perhaps?” says the injured Guppy.

“No,” returns his friend; “if it’s nothing worse than this, I withdraw the observation.”

“Now, Tony,” says Mr. Guppy, taking his arm again and walking him slowly on, “I should like to know, in a friendly way, whether you have yet thought over the many advantages of your continuing to live at that place?”

“What do you mean?” says Tony, stopping.

“Whether you have yet thought over the many advantages of your continuing to live at that place?” repeats Mr. Guppy, walking him on again.

“At what place?  That place?” pointing in the direction of the rag and bottle shop.

Mr. Guppy nods.

“Why, I wouldn’t pass another night there for any consideration that you could offer me,” says Mr. Weevle, haggardly staring.

“Do you mean it though, Tony?”

“Mean it!  Do I look as if I mean it?  I feel as if I do; I know that,” says Mr. Weevle with a very genuine shudder.

“Then the possibility or probability—­for such it must be considered—­of your never being disturbed in possession of those effects lately belonging to a lone old man who seemed to have no relation in the world, and the certainty of your being able to find out what he really had got stored up there, don’t weigh with you at all against last night, Tony, if I understand you?” says Mr. Guppy, biting his thumb with the appetite of vexation.