Susan.  Fiddle of the newspapers; who else can it be?

Both.  That is very true (gravely).

Enter LANDLORD.

Landlord.  Here, Susan, James, Philip, where are you all?  The London coach is come in, and there is Mr. Fillaside, the fat passenger, has been bawling for somebody to help him off with his boots.

[The Chambermaid and Waiters slip out.

(Solus.) The house is turned upside down since the strange gentleman came into it.  Nothing but guessing and speculating, and speculating and guessing; waiters and chambermaids getting into corners and speculating; hostlers and stable-boys speculating in the yard; I believe the very horses in the stable are speculating too, for there they stand in a musing posture, nothing for them to eat, and not seeming to care whether they have anything or no; and after all what does it signify?  I hate such curious—­odso, I must take this box up into his bedroom—­he charged me to see to it myself;—­I hate such inquisitive—­I wonder what is in it—­it feels heavy; (reads) “Leases, title-deeds, wills.”  Here now a man might satisfy his curiosity at once.  Deeds must have names to them, so must leases and wills.  But I wouldn’t—­no I wouldn’t—­it is a pretty box too—­prettily dovetailed—­I admire the fashion of it much.  But I’d cut my fingers off, before I’d do such a dirty—­what have I to do—­curse the keys, how they rattle!—­rattle in one’s pockets—­the keys and the half-pence (takes out a bunch and plays with them).  I wonder if any of these would fit; one might just try them, but I wouldn’t lift up the lid if they did.  Oh no, what should I be the richer for knowing? (All this time he tries the keys one by one.) What’s his name to me? a thousand names begin with an H. I hate people that are always prying, poking and prying into things,—­thrusting their finger into one place—­a mighty little hole this—­and their keys into another.  Oh Lord! little rusty fits it! but what is that to me?  I wouldn’t go to—­no, no—­but it is odd little rusty should just happen—­(While he is turning up the lid of the box, Mr. H. enters behind him unperceived.)

Mr. H. What are you about, you dog?

Landlord. Oh Lord, Sir I pardon; no thief, as I hope to be saved.  Little Pry was always honest.

Mr. H. What else could move you to open that box?

Landlord. Sir, don’t kill me, and I will confess the whole truth.  This box happened to be lying—­that is, I happened to be carrying this box, and I happened to have my keys out, and so—­little rusty happened to fit—­

Mr. H. So little rusty happened to fit!—­and would not a rope fit that rogue’s neck?  I see the papers have not been moved:  all is safe, but it was as well to frighten him a little (aside).  Come, Landlord, as I think you honest, and suspect you only intended to gratify a little foolish curiosity—­