"Jabez Naylor, sir, but everybody call me Jabey."

"I see--Jabey for short, eh?" said Collingwood good-humouredly. He
walked into the shop, followed by the boy, and closed the door. The
outer door into Quagg Alley was locked: a light blind was drawn over the
one window; the books and engravings on the shelves and in the presses
were veiled in a half-gloom. "Well, as Mrs. Clough says, we can't do any
business for a few days, Jabey--after that we must see what can be done.
You shall have your wages just the same, of course, and you may look in
every day to see if there's anything you can do. You were here
yesterday, of course? Were you in the shop when Mr. Bartle went out?"

"Yes, sir," replied the lad. "I'd been in with him all the afternoon. I
was here when he went out--and here when they came to say he'd died at
Mr. Eldrick's."

Collingwood sat down in his grandfather's chair, at a big table, piled
high with books and papers, which stood in the middle of the floor.

"Did my grandfather seem at all unwell when he went out?" he asked.

"No, sir. He had been coughing a bit more than usual--that was all.
There was a fog came on about five o'clock, and he said it bothered
him."

"What had he been doing during the afternoon? Anything particular?"

"Nothing at all particular before half-past four or so, sir."