‘Jarniman?’ said Victor sharply.  ‘Who is the Jarniman?’

’Mr. Jarniman is, I am to understand from the acquaintance introducing us—­a Mr. Shaplow I met in the train from Lakelands one day, and again at the corner of a street near Drury Lane, a ham and beef shop kept by a Mrs. Jarniman, a very stout lady, who does the chief carving in the shop, and is the mother of Mr. Jarniman:  he is in a confidential place, highly trusted.’  Skepsey looked up from the hands he soaped:  ’He is a curious mixture; he has true enthusiasm for boxing, he believes in ghosts.  He mourns for the lost days of prize-fighting, he thinks that spectres are on the increase.  He has a very large appetite, depressed spirits.  Mr. Shaplow informs me he is a man of substance, in the service of a wealthy lady in poor health, expecting a legacy and her appearance to him.  He has the look—­Mr. Shaplow assures me he does not drink to excess:  he is a slow drinker.’

Victor straightened:  ‘Bad way of health, you said?’

’Mr. Jarniman spoke of his expectations, as being immediate:  he put it, that he expected her spirit to be out for him to meet it any day—­or night.  He desires it.  He says, she has promised it—­on oath, he says, and must feel that she must do her duty to him before she goes, if she is to appear to him with any countenance after.  But he is anxious for her in any case to show herself, and says, he should not have the heart to reproach her.  He has principles, a tear for suffering; he likes to be made to cry.  Mrs. Jarniman, his mother, he is not married, is much the same so far, except ghosts; she will not have them; except after strong tea, they come, she says, come to her bed.  She is foolish enough to sleep in a close-curtained bed.  But the poor lady is so exceedingly stout that a puff of cold would carry her off, she fears.’

Victor stamped his foot.  ’This man Jarniman serves a lady now in a—­ serious, does he say?  Was he precise?’

’Mr. Jarniman spoke of a remarkable number of diseases; very complicated, he says.  He has no opinion of doctors.  He says, that the lady’s doctor and the chemist—­she sits in a chemist’s shop and swallows other people’s prescriptions that take her fancy.  He says, her continuing to live is wonderful.  He has no reason to hurry her, only for the satisfaction of a natural curiosity.’

‘He mentioned her name?’

‘No name, sir.’

Skepsey’s limpid grey eyes confirmed the negative to Victor, who was assured that the little man stood clean of any falsity.

’You are not on equal terms.  You and the magistrate have helped him to know who it is you serve, Skepsey.’

‘Would you please to direct me, sir.’

’Another time.  Now go and ease your feet with a run over the town.  We have music in half an hour.  That you like, I know.  See chiefly to amusing yourself.’

Skepsey turned to go; he murmured, that he had enjoyed his trip.