* * * * *

“I don’t triumph,” said Jarber, folding up the second manuscript, and looking hard at Trottle.  “I don’t triumph over this worthy creature.  I merely ask him if he is satisfied now?”

“How can he be anything else?” I said, answering for Trottle, who sat obstinately silent.  “This time, Jarber, you have not only read us a delightfully amusing story, but you have also answered the question about the House.  Of course it stands empty now.  Who would think of taking it after it had been turned into a caravan?” I looked at Trottle, as I said those last words, and Jarber waved his hand indulgently in the same direction.

“Let this excellent person speak,” said Jarber.  “You were about to say, my good man?”—­

“I only wished to ask, sir,” said Trottle doggedly, “if you could kindly oblige me with a date or two in connection with that last story?”

“A date!” repeated Jarber.  “What does the man want with dates!”

“I should be glad to know, with great respect,” persisted Trottle, “if the person named Magsman was the last tenant who lived in the House.  It’s my opinion—­if I may be excused for giving it—­that he most decidedly was not.”

With those words, Trottle made a low bow, and quietly left the room.

There is no denying that Jarber, when we were left together, looked sadly discomposed.  He had evidently forgotten to inquire about dates; and, in spite of his magnificent talk about his series of discoveries, it was quite as plain that the two stories he had just read, had really and truly exhausted his present stock.  I thought myself bound, in common gratitude, to help him out of his embarrassment by a timely suggestion.  So I proposed that he should come to tea again, on the next Monday evening, the thirteenth, and should make such inquiries in the meantime, as might enable him to dispose triumphantly of Trottle’s objection.

He gallantly kissed my hand, made a neat little speech of acknowledgment, and took his leave.  For the rest of the week I would not encourage Trottle by allowing him to refer to the House at all.  I suspected he was making his own inquiries about dates, but I put no questions to him.

On Monday evening, the thirteenth, that dear unfortunate Jarber came, punctual to the appointed time.  He looked so terribly harassed, that he was really quite a spectacle of feebleness and fatigue.  I saw, at a glance, that the question of dates had gone against him, that Mr. Magsman had not been the last tenant of the House, and that the reason of its emptiness was still to seek.

“What I have gone through,” said Jarber, “words are not eloquent enough to tell.  O Sophonisba, I have begun another series of discoveries!  Accept the last two as stories laid on your shrine; and wait to blame me for leaving your curiosity unappeased, until you have heard Number Three.”