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are wide open； and the room is lofty； gusty； and gloomy。
These may not be desirable characteristics when November comes
with fog and sleet； or January with ice and snow； but they have
their merits in the sultry long vacation weather。 They enable
Allegory； though it has cheeks like peaches； and knees like
bunches of blossoms； and rosy swellings for calves to its legs and
muscles to its arms； to look tolerably cool tonight。
Plenty of dust comes in at Mr Tulkinghorn’s windows； and
plenty more has generated among his furniture and papers。 It lies
thick everywhere。 When a breeze from the country that has lost its
way； takes fright； and makes a blind hurry to rush out again； it
flings as much dust in the eyes of Allegory as the law—or Mr
Tulkinghorn； one of its trustiest representatives—may scatter； on
occasion； in the eyes of the laity。
In his lowering magazine of dust； the universal article into
which his papers and himself； and all his clients； and all things of
earth； animate and inanimate； are resolving； Mr Tulkinghorn sits
at one of the open windows； enjoying a bottle of old port。 Though a
hard…grained man； close； dry； and silent； he can enjoy old wine
with the best。 He has a priceless binn of port in some artful cellar
under the Fields； which is one of his many secrets。 When he dines
alone in chambers； as he has dined today； and has his bit of fish
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and his steak or chicken brought in from the coffee…house； he
descends with a candle to the echoing regions below the deserted
mansion； and； heralded by a remote reverberation of thundering
doors； comes gravely back； encircled by an earthy atmosphere；
and carrying a bottle from which he pours a radiant nectar； two
score and ten years old； that blushes in the glass to find itself so
famous； and fills the whole room with the fragrance of southern
grapes。
Mr Tulkinghorn； sitting in the twilight by the open window；
enjoys his wine。 As if it whispered to him of its fifty years of silence
and seclusion； it shuts him up the closer。 More impenetrable than
ever； he sits； and drinks； and mellows as it were in secrecy；
pondering； at that twilight hour； on all the mysteries he knows；
associated with darkening woods in the country； and vast blank
shut…up houses in town； and perhaps sparing a thought or two for
himself； and his family history； and his money； and his will—all a
mystery to everyone—and that one bachelor friend of his； a man of
the same mould and a lawyer too； who lived the same kind of life
until he was seventy…five years old； and then； suddenly conceiving
（as it is supposed） an impression that it was too monotonous； gave
his gold watch to his hair…dresser one summer evening； and
walked leisurely home to the Temple； and hanged himself。
But； Mr Tulkinghorn is not alone tonight； to ponder at his usual
length。 Seated at the same table； though with his chair modestly
and uncomfortably drawn a little way from it； sits a bald； mild；
shining man； who coughs respectfully behind his hand when the
lawyer bids him fill his glass。
“Now； Snagsby；” says Mr Tulkinghorn； “to go over this odd
story again。”
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“If you please； sir。”
“You told me when you were so good as to step round here； last
night—”
“For which I must ask you to excuse me if it was a liberty； sir；
but I remember that you had taken a sort of an interest in that
person； and I thought it possible that you might…just…wish…to…” Mr
Tulkinghorn is not the man to help him to any conclusion； or to
admit anything as to any possibility concerning himself。 So Mr
Snagsby trails off into saying； with an awkward cough； “I must ask
you to excuse the liberty； sir； I am sure。”
“Not at all；” says Mr Tulkinghorn。 “You told me； Snagsby； that
you put on your hat and came round without mentioning your
intention to your wife。 That was prudent I think； because it’s not a
matter of such importance that it requires to be mentioned。”
“Well； sir；” returns Mr Snagsby； “you see my little woman is—
not to put too fine a point upon it—inquisitive。 She’s inquisitive。
Poor little thing； she’s liable to spasms； and it’s good for her to
have her mind employed。 In consequence of which； she employs
it—I should say upon every individual thing she can lay hold of；
whether it concerns her or not—especially not。 My little woman
has a very active mind； sir。”
Mr Snagsby drinks； and murmurs； with an admiring cough
behind his hand。 “Dear me； very fine wine indeed！”
“Therefore you kept your visit to yourself； last night？” says Mr
Tulkinghorn。 “And tonight； too？”
“Yes； sir； and tonight； too。 My little woman is at present in—not
to put too fine a point on it—in a pious state； or in what she
considers such； and attends the Evening Exertions （which is the
name they go by） of a reverend party of the name of Chadband。 He
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has a great deal of eloquence at his command undoubtedly； but I
am not quite favourable to his style myself。 That’s neither here nor
there。 My little woman being engaged in that way； made it easier
for me to step round in a quiet manner。”
Mr Tulkinghorn assents。 “Fill your glass； Snagsby。”
“Thank you； sir； I am sure；” returns the stationer； with his
cough of deference。 “This is wonderfully fine wine； sir！”
“It is a rare wine now；” says Mr Tulkinghorn。 “It is fifty years
old。”
“Is it indeed； sir？ But I am not surprised to hear it； I am sure。 It
might be—any age almost。” After rendering this general tribute to
the port； Mr Snagsby in his modesty coughs an apology behind his
hand for drinking anything so precious。
“Will you run over； once again； what the boy said？” asks Mr
Tulkinghorn； putting his hands into the pockets of his rusty small…
clothes and leaning quietly back in his chair。
“With pleasure； sir。”
Then； with fidelity； though with some prolixity； the law…
stationer repeats Jo’s statement made to the assembled guests at
his house。 On coming to the end of his narrative； he gives a great
start； and breaks off with—“Dear me； sir； I wasn’t aware there was
any other gentleman present！”
Mr Snagsby is dismayed to see； standing with an attentive face
between himself and the lawyer； at a little distance from the table；
a person with a hat and stick in his hand who was not there when
he himself came in； and has not since entered by the door or by
either of the windows。 There is a press in the room； but its hing