“Down he goes again!” the bargeman cried, not heeding the interruption.  “Down he goes again:  I likes wapping a lord!”

“Coward!” shouted Mendoza; and to fling open the window amidst a shower of brickbats, to vault over the balcony, to slide down one of the pillars to the ground, was an instant’s work.

At the next he stood before the enormous bargeman.

*****

After the coroner’s inquest, Mendoza gave ten thousand pounds to each of the bargeman’s ten children, and it was thus his first acquaintance was formed with Lord Codlingsby.

But we are lingering on the threshold of the house in Holywell Street.  Let us go in.

III.

Godfrey and Rafael passed from the street into the outer shop of the old mansion in Holywell Street.  It was a masquerade warehouse to all appearance.  A dark-eyed damsel of the nation was standing at the dark and grimy counter, strewed with old feathers, old yellow hoots, old stage mantles, painted masks, blind and yet gazing at you with a look of sad death-like intelligence from the vacancy behind their sockets.

A medical student was trying one of the doublets of orange-tawny and silver, slashed with dirty light blue.  He was going to a masquerade that night.  He thought Polly Pattens would admire him in the dress—­Polly Pattens, the fairest of maids-of-all-work—­the Borough Venus, adored by half the youth of Guy’s.

“You look like a prince in it, Mr. Lint,” pretty Rachel said, coaxing him with her beady black eyes.

“It is the cheese,” replied Mr. Lint; “it ain’t the dress that don’t suit, my rose of Sharon; it’s the figure.  Hullo, Rafael, is that you, my lad of sealing-wax?  Come and intercede for me with this wild gazelle; she says I can’t have it under fifteen bob for the night.  And it’s too much:  cuss me if it’s not too much, unless you’ll take my little bill at two months, Rafael.”

“There’s a sweet pretty brigand’s dress you may have for half de monish,” Rafael replied; “there’s a splendid clown for eight bob; but for dat Spanish dress, selp ma Moshesh, Mistraer Lint, ve’d ask a guinea of any but you.  Here’s a gentlemansh just come to look at it.  Look ’ear, Mr. Brownsh, did you ever shee a nisher ting dan dat?” So saying, Rafael turned to Lord Codlingsby with the utmost gravity, and displayed to him the garment about which the young medicus was haggling.

“Cheap at the money,” Codlingsby replied; “if you won’t make up your mind, sir, I should like to engage it myself.”  But the thought that another should appear before Polly Pattens in that costume was too much for Mr. Lint; he agreed to pay the fifteen shillings for the garment.  And Rafael, pocketing the money with perfect simplicity, said, “Dis vay, Mr. Brownsh:  dere’s someting vill shoot you in the next shop.”

Lord Codlingsby followed him, wondering.