CHAPTER V

A NONDESCRIPT




Scarcely had quiet fallen upon the house--it was half an hour after
midnight--when at the front door sounded a discreet but resolute
knocking. Mrs. Bubb, though she had retired to her chamber, was not
yet wholly unpresentable; reluctantly, and with wonder, she went to
answer the untimely visitor. After a short parley through the gap of
the chained door she ascended several flights and sought to arouse
Mr. Gammon--no easy task.

"What's up?" shouted her lodger in a voice of half-remembered
conviviality. "House on fire?"

"I hope not indeed. There wouldn't have been much chance for you if
it was. It's your friend Mr. Greenacre, as says he must see you for
a minute."

"All right; send him up, please. What the dickens can he want at
this time o' night!"

Mr. Gammon having promised to see his visitor out again, with due
attention to the house door, the landlady showed a light whilst Mr.
Greenacre mounted the stairs. The gas-jet in his friend's bedroom
displayed him as a gaunt, ill-dressed man of about forty, with a
long unwholesome face, lank hair, and prominent eyes. He began with