old chairs, full of ghosts sitting piled up in each other's laps--there's
no reason why you should only see one sitter at a time. Think of that
beautifully-carved four-poster."

"My uncle bought that," said Miss Drewitt, somewhat irrelevantly.

"Yes, but I got it for him," said Mr. Tredgold. "You can't pick up a
thing like that at a moment's notice--I had my eye on it for years; all
the time old Brown was bedridden, in fact. I used to go and see him and
take him tobacco, and he promised me that I should have it when he had
done with it."

"Done with it?" repeated the girl, in a startled voice. "Did--did he get
another one, then?"

[Illustration: "'Done with it?' repeated the girl, in a startled voice."]

Mr. Tredgold, roused from the pleasurable reminiscences of a collector,
remembered himself suddenly. "Oh, yes, he got another one," he said,
soothingly.

"Is--is he bedridden now?" inquired the girl.

"I haven't seen him for some time," said Mr. Tredgold, truthfully. "He
gave up smoking and--and then I didn't go to see him, you know."

"He's dead," said Miss Drewitt, shivering. "He died in---- Oh, you are
horrible!"

"That carving--" began Mr. Tredgold.