"They say he's in the fruit way, sir. In the Spanish trade. His
men are Spaniards. They do say he's not quite to be trusted."

"Who says this?" my uncle asked.

"I don't like to mention names, sir," Ephraim said.

"Quite right. Quite right. But what do they say?"

"Very queer things goes on in that 'ouse," said Ephraim. "I don't
'ardly like to say. But they think 'e raises the devil, sir.
Awful noises goes on there. I seen some things myself there, as I
don't like to talk of. Well. I saw a black bird as big as a man
stand flapping in the window. Then I seen eyes glaring out at the
door. They give the 'ouse a bad name, sir; everyone."

"H'm," said my uncle. "What's he like, Martin, this Mr. Jermyn?"

"A tall man, with a beard," I answered. I thought it wrong to
mention that I knew the beard to be false. "He's always stroking
the bridge of his nose with his hand."

"Ha," my uncle said, as though recognizing the trait. "But with a
beard, you tell me?"

"Yes, sir. With a beard."

"H'm," he answered, musing, "I must have a look at this Mr.
Jermyn. Remember, Martin, you're to have nothing more to do with
him, till I know a little more of what he is. You understand?"