“What do you want?” he demanded, sharply, standing in the doorway.

I explained my errand.

“I shall call myself,” was his sole reply; and he shut the door with a crash that indicated no very pleasurable emotions.

I cared very little about my lodger’s temper.  The stealthy rustle of his bank-note in my waistcoat pocket was music enough to sweeten the harshest tones of his voice, and to keep alive a cheerful good humour in my heart; and although there was, indisputably, something queer about him, I was, on the whole, very well pleased with my bargain.

The next day our new inmate did not ring his bell until noon.  As soon as he had had some breakfast, of which he very sparingly partook, he told the servant that, for the future, he desired that a certain quantity of milk and bread might be left outside his door; and this being done, he would dispense with regular meals.  He desired, too, that, on my return, I should be acquainted that he wished to see me in his own room at about nine o’clock; and, meanwhile, he directed that he should be left undisturbed.  I found my little wife full of astonishment at Mr. Smith’s strange frugality and seclusion, and very curious to learn the object of the interview he had desired with me.  At nine o’clock I repaired to his room.

I found him in precisely the costume in which I had left him—­the same green goggles—­the same muffling of the mouth, except that being now no more than a broadly-folded black silk handkerchief, very loose, and covering even the lower part of the nose, it was obviously intended for the sole purpose of concealment.  It was plain I was not to see more of his features than he had chosen to disclose at our first interview.  The effect was as if the lower part of his face had some hideous wound or sore.  He closed the door with his own hand on my entrance, nodded slightly, and took his seat.  I expected him to begin, but he was so long silent that I was at last constrained to address him.

I said, for want of something more to the purpose, that I hoped he had not been tormented by the strange cat the night before.

“What cat?” he asked, abruptly; “what the plague do you mean?”

“Why, I certainly did see a cat go into your room last night,” I resumed.

“Hey, and what if you did—­though I fancy you dreamed it—­I’m not afraid of a cat; are you?” he interrupted, tartly.

At this moment there came a low growling mew from the closet which opened from the room in which we sat.

“Talk of the devil,” said I, pointing towards the closet.  My companion, without any exact change of expression, looked, I thought, somehow still more sinister and lowering; and I felt for a moment a sort of superstitious misgiving, which made the rest of the sentence die away on my lips.

Perhaps Mr. Smith perceived this, for he said, in a tone calculated to reassure me—­

“Well, sir, I think I am bound to tell you that I like my apartments very well; they suit me, and I shall probably be your tenant for much longer than at first you anticipated.”