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regularly continued； but soon left off。 There are a few dirty scraps
of newspapers； all referring to Coroners’ Inquests； there is nothing
else。 They search the cupboard； and the drawer of the ink…
splashed table。 There is not a morsel of an old letter； or of any
other writing； in either。 The young surgeon examines the dress on
the law writer。 A knife and some odd halfpence are all he finds。 Mr
Snagsby’s suggestion is the practical suggestion after all； and the
beadle must be called in。
So the little crazy lodger goes for the beadle； and the rest come
out of the room。 “Don’t leave the cat there！” says the surgeon：
“that won’t do！” Mr Krook therefore drives her out before him；
and she goes furtively downstairs； winding her lithe tail and
licking her lips。
“Good night！” says Mr Tulkinghorn； and goes home to Allegory
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and meditation。
By this time the news has got into the court。 Groups of its
inhabitants assemble to discuss the thing； and the outposts of the
army of observation （principally boys） are pushed forward to Mr
Krook’s window； which they closely invest。 A policeman has
already walked up to the room； and walked down again to the
door； where he stands like a tower； only condescending to see the
boys at his base occasionally； but whenever he does see them； they
quail and fall back。 Mrs Perkins； who has not been for some weeks
on speaking terms with Mrs Piper； in consequence of an
unpleasantness originating in young Perkins having “fetched”
young Piper “a crack；” renews her friendly intercourse on this
auspicious occasion。 The potboy at the corner； who is a privileged
amateur； as possessing official knowledge of life； and having to
deal with drunken men occasionally； exchanges confidential
communications with the policeman； and has the appearance of an
impregnable youth； unassailable by truncheons and unconfinable
in station…houses。 People talk across the court out of window； and
bare…headed scouts come hurrying in from Chancery Lane to
know what’s the matter。 The general feeling seems to be that it’s a
blessing Mr Krook warn’t made away with first； mingled with a
little natural disappointment that he was not。 In the midst of this
sensation； the beadle arrives。
The beadle； though generally understood in the neighbourhood
to be a ridiculous institution； is not without a certain popularity for
the moment； if it were only as a man who is going to see the body。
The policeman considers him an imbecile civilian； a remnant of
the barbarous watchmen…times； but gives him admission； as
something that must be borne with until Government shall abolish
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him。 The sensation is heightened； as the tidings spread from
mouth to mouth that the beadle is on the ground； and has gone in。
By…and…by the beadle comes out； once more intensifying the
sensation； which has rather languished in the interval。 He is
understood to be in want of witnesses； for the inquest tomorrow；
who can tell the Coroner and Jury anything whatever respecting
the deceased。 Is immediately referred to innumerable people who
can tell nothing whatever。 Is made more imbecile by being
constantly informed that Mrs Green’s son “was a law…writer
hisself； and knowed him better than anybody”—which son of Mrs
Green’s appears； on inquiry； to be at the present time aboard a
vessel bound for China； three months out； but considered
accessible by telegraph； on application to the Lords of the
Admiralty。 Beadle goes into various shops and parlours；
examining the inhabitants； always shutting the door first； and by
exclusion； delay； and general idiotcy； exasperating the public。
Policeman seen to smile to potboy。 Public loses interest； and
undergoes reaction。 Taunts the beadle； in shrill youthful voices；
with having boiled a boy； choruses fragments of a popular song to
that effect； and importing that the boy was made into soup for the
workhouse。 Policeman at last finds it necessary to support the law；
and seize a vocalist； who is released upon the flight of the rest； on
condition of his getting out of this then； come！ and cutting it—a
condition he immediately observes。 So the sensation dies off for
the time； and the unmoved policeman （to whom a little opium；
more or less； is nothing）； with his shining hat； stiff stock； inflexible
greatcoat； stout belt and bracelet； and all things fitting； pursues his
lounging way with a heavy tread： beating the palms of his white
gloves one against the other； and stopping now and then； at a
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street…corner； to look casually about for anything between a lost
child and a murder。
Under cover of the night； the feeble…minded beadle comes
flitting about Chancery Lane with his summonses； in which every
Juror’s name is wrongly spelt； and nothing is rightly spelt but the
beadle’s own name； which nobody can read or wants to know。 The
summonses served； and his witnesses forewarned； the beadle goes
to Mr Krook’s； to keep a small appointment he has made with
certain paupers； who； presently arriving； are conducted upstairs；
where they leave the great eyes in the shutter something new to
stare at； in that last shape which earthly lodgings take for No
one—and for Every one。
And； all that night； the coffin stands ready by the old
portmanteau； and the lonely figure on the bed； whose path in life
has lain through five…and…forty years； lies there； with no more
track behind him； that any one can trace； than a deserted infant。
Next day the court is all alive—is like a fair； as Mrs Perkins；
more than reconciled to Mrs Piper； says； in amicable conversation
with that excellent woman。 The coroner is to sit in the first…floor
room at the Sol’s Arms； where the Harmonic Meetings take place
twice a…week； and where the chair is filled by a gentleman of
professional celebrity； faced by little Swills； the comic vocalist；
who hopes （according to the bill in the window） that his friends
will rally round him； and support first…rate talent。 The Sol’s Arms
does a brisk stroke of business all the morning。 Even children so
require sustaining； under the general excitement； that a pieman
who has established himself for the occasion at the corner of the
court； says his