“Quite right sir,” says the woman.  “Good Mr. Forley’s letter told us his particular friend would be here to represent him, at dusk, on Monday the thirteenth—­or, if not on Monday the thirteenth, then on Monday the twentieth, at the same time, without fail.  And here you are on Monday the thirteenth, ain’t you, sir?  Mr. Forley’s particular friend, and dressed all in black—­quite right, sir!  Please to step into the dining-room—­it’s always kep scoured and clean against Mr. Forley comes here—­and I’ll fetch a candle in half a minute.  It gets so dark in the evenings, now, you hardly know where you are, do you, sir?  And how is good Mr. Forley in his health?  We trust he is better, Benjamin, don’t we?  We are so sorry not to see him as usual, Benjamin, ain’t we?  In half a minute, sir, if you don’t mind waiting, I’ll be back with the candle.  Come along, Benjamin.”

“Come along, Benjamin,” chimes in the echo, and chuckles again as if he thought he had made another joke.

Left alone in the empty front-parlour, Trottle wondered what was coming next, as he heard the shuffling, scraping footsteps go slowly down the kitchen-stairs.  The front-door had been carefully chained up and bolted behind him on his entrance; and there was not the least chance of his being able to open it to effect his escape, without betraying himself by making a noise.

Not being of the Jarber sort, luckily for himself, he took his situation quietly, as he found it, and turned his time, while alone, to account, by summing up in his own mind the few particulars which he had discovered thus far.  He had found out, first, that Mr. Forley was in the habit of visiting the house regularly.  Second, that Mr. Forley being prevented by illness from seeing the people put in charge as usual, had appointed a friend to represent him; and had written to say so.  Third, that the friend had a choice of two Mondays, at a particular time in the evening, for doing his errand; and that Trottle had accidentally hit on this time, and on the first of the Mondays, for beginning his own investigations.  Fourth, that the similarity between Trottle’s black dress, as servant out of livery, and the dress of the messenger (whoever he might be), had helped the error by which Trottle was profiting.  So far, so good.  But what was the messenger’s errand? and what chance was there that he might not come up and knock at the door himself, from minute to minute, on that very evening?

While Trottle was turning over this last consideration in his mind, he heard the shuffling footsteps come up the stairs again, with a flash of candle-light going before them.  He waited for the woman’s coming in with some little anxiety; for the twilight had been too dim on his getting into the house to allow him to see either her face or the man’s face at all clearly.