Lauriston, almost out of breath with excitement, turned and pointed to the
open door of the little parlour.

"There's an old man--lying in there--dead!" he whispered. "A grey-bearded
old man--is it the pawn-broker--Mr. Multenius?"

The man stared, craned his neck to glance in the direction which
Lauriston's shaking finger indicated, and then started forward. But he
suddenly paused, and motioned Lauriston to go first--and before following
him he closed the street door.

"Now then, where?" he said. "Dead, do you say?" He followed Lauriston into
the parlour, uttered a sharp exclamation as he caught sight of the
recumbent figure, and, bending down, laid a hand on the forehead. "Dead,
right enough, my lad!" he muttered. "Been dead some minutes, too. But--
where's the girl--the grand-daughter? Have you seen anybody?"

"Not a soul!" answered Lauriston. "Since I came in, the whole place has
been as still as--as it is now!"

The man stared at him for a second or two, silently; then, as if he knew
the ins and outs of the establishment, he strode to an inner door, threw
it open and revealed a staircase.

"Hullo there!" he called loudly. "Hullo! Miss Wildrose! Are you there?"

This was the first time Lauriston had heard Zillah's surname: even in the
midst of that startling discovery, it struck him as a very poetical one.
But he had no time to reflect on it--the man turned back into the parlour.