Dr. Cashmore was at the door, and still another man of fifty, a stern-set, blue-chinned, stoutish person in deep and perfect mourning, including black gloves.

This person gazed coldly at Priam Farll.

“Ah!” ejaculated the mourner.

And stepped in, followed by Dr. Cashmore.

In achieving the inner mat the mourner perceived a white square on the floor.  He picked it up and carefully examined it, and then handed it to Priam Farll.

“I suppose this is for you,” said he.

Priam, accepting the envelope, saw that it was addressed to “Henry Leek, Esq., 91 Selwood Terrace, S.W.,” in a woman’s hand.

“It is for you, isn’t it?” pursued the mourner in an inflexible voice.

“Yes,” said Priam.

“I am Mr. Duncan Farll, a solicitor, a cousin of your late employer,” the metallic voice continued, coming through a set of large, fine, white teeth.  “What arrangements have you made during the day?”

Priam stammered:  “None.  I’ve been asleep.”

“You aren’t very respectful,” said Duncan Farll.

So this was his second cousin, whom he had met, once only, as a boy!  Never would he have recognized Duncan.  Evidently it did not occur to Duncan to recognize him.  People are apt to grow unrecognizable in the course of forty years.

Duncan Farll strode about the ground-floor of the house, and on the threshold of each room ejaculated “Ah!” or “Ha!” Then he and the doctor went upstairs.  Priam remained inert, and excessively disturbed, in the hall.

At length Duncan Farll descended.

“Come in here, Leek,” said Duncan.

And Priam meekly stepped after him into the room where the hard chair was.  Duncan Farll took the hard chair.

“What are your wages?”

Priam sought to remember how much he had paid Henry Leek.

“A hundred a year,” said he.

“Ah!  A good wage.  When were you last paid?”

Priam remembered that he had paid Leek two days ago.

“The day before yesterday,” said he.

“I must say again you are not very respectful,” Duncan observed, drawing forth his pocket-book.  “However, here is L8 7_s_., a month’s wages in lieu of notice.  Put your things together, and go.  I shall have no further use for you.  I will make no observations of any kind.  But be good enough to dress—­it is three o’clock—­and leave the house at once.  Let me see your box or boxes before you go.”

When, an hour later, in the gloaming, Priam Farll stood on the wrong side of his own door, with Henry Leek’s heavy kit-bag and Henry Leek’s tin trunk flanking him on either hand, he saw that events in his career were moving with immense rapidity.  He had wanted to be free, and free he was.  Quite free!  But it appeared to him very remarkable that so much could happen, in so short a time, as the result of a mere momentary impulsive prevarication.