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man whose heart ever changes with the world； as an old mansion
when it becomes an inn！
No effort had been made to furnish this chilly waste； but before
the broad chimney a colony of chairs and tables had been planted
on a square of carpet； flanked by a ghostly screen； enriched with
figures； grinning and grotesque。 After lighting with his own hands
the faggots which were heaped upon the hearth； old John
withdrew to hold grave council with his cook； touching the
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stranger’s entertainment； while the guest himself； seeing small
comfort in the yet unkindled wood； opened a lattice in the distant
window； and basked in a sickly gleam of cold March sun。
Leaving the window now and then； to rake the crackling logs
together； or pace the echoing room from end to end； he closed it
when the fire was quite burnt up； and having wheeled the easiest
chair into the warmest corner； summoned John Willet。 ‘Sir；’ said
John。
He wanted pen； ink； and paper。 There was an old standish on
the mantel…shelf containing a dusty apology for all three。 Having
set this before him； the landlord was retiring； when he motioned
him to stay。
‘There’s a house not far from here；’ said the guest when he had
written a few lines； ‘which you call the Warren； I believe？’
As this was said in the tone of one who knew the fact； and asked
the question as a thing of course； John contented himself with
nodding his head in the affirmative； at the same time taking one
hand out of his pockets to cough behind； and then putting it in
again。
‘I want this note’—said the guest； glancing on what he had
written； and folding it； ‘conveyed there without loss of time； and an
answer brought back here。 Have you a messenger at hand？’
John was thoughtful for a minute or thereabouts； and then said
Yes。
‘Let me see him；’ said the guest。
This was disconcerting； for Joe being out； and Hugh engaged in
rubbing down the chestnut cob； he designed sending on the
errand； Barnaby； who had just then arrived in one of his rambles；
and who； so that he thought himself employed on a grave and
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serious business； would go anywhere。
‘Why the truth is；’ said John after a long pause； ‘that the person
who’d go quickest； is a sort of natural； as one may say； sir； and
though quick of foot； and as much to be trusted as the post itself；
he’s not good at talking； being touched and flighty； sir。’
‘You don’t；’ said the guest； raising his eyes to John’s fat face；
‘you don’t mean—what’s the fellow’s name—you don’t mean
Barnaby？’
‘Yes； I do；’ returned the landlord； his features turning quite
expressive with surprise。
‘How comes he to be here？’ inquired the guest； leaning back in
his chair； speaking in the bland； even tone； from which he never
varied； and with the same soft； courteous； never…changing smile
upon his face。 ‘I saw him in London last night。’
‘He’s； for ever； here one hour； and there the next；’ returned old
John； after the usual pause to get the question in his mind。
‘Sometimes he walks； and sometimes runs。 He’s known along the
road by everybody； and sometimes comes here in a cart or chaise；
and sometimes riding double。 He comes and goes； through wind；
rain； snow； and hail； and on the darkest nights。 Nothing hurts
him。’
‘He goes often to the Warren； does he not？’ said the guest
carelessly。 ‘I seem to remember his mother telling me something
to that effect yesterday。 But I was not attending to the good
woman much。’
‘You’re right； sir；’ John made answer； ‘he does。 His father； sir；
was murdered in that house。’
‘So I have heard；’ returned the guest； taking a gold toothpick
from his pocket with the same sweet smile。 ‘A very disagreeable
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circumstance for the family。’
‘Very；’ said John with a puzzled look； as if it occurred to him；
dimly and afar off； that this might by possibility be a cool way of
treating the subject。
‘All the circumstances after a murder；’ said the guest
soliloquising； ‘must be dreadfully unpleasant—so much bustle and
disturbance—no repose—a constant dwelling upon one subject—
and the running in and out； and up and down stairs； intolerable。 I
wouldn’t have such a thing happen to anybody I was nearly
interested in； on any account。 ’Twould be enough to wear one’s life
out。—You were going to say； friend—’ he added； turning to John
again。
‘Only that Mrs Rudge lives on a little pension from the family；
and that Barnaby’s as free of the house as any cat or dog about it；’
answered John。 ‘Shall he do your errand； sir？’
‘Oh yes；’ replied the guest。 ‘Oh certainly。 Let him do it by all
means。 Please to bring him here that I may charge him to be
quick。 If he objects to come you may tell him it’s Mr Chester。 He
will remember my name； I dare say。’
John was so very much astonished to find who his visitor was；
that he could express no astonishment at all； by looks or
otherwise； but left the room as if he were in the most placid and
imperturbable of all possible conditions。 It has been reported that
when he got downstairs； he looked steadily at the boiler for ten
minutes by the clock； and all that time never once left off shaking
his head； for which statement there would seem to be some
ground of truth and feasibility； inasmuch as that interval of time
did certainly elapse； before he returned with Barnaby to the
guest’s apartment。
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‘Come hither； lad；’ said Mr Chester。 ‘You know Mr Geoffrey
Haredale？’
Barnaby laughed； and looked at the landlord as though he
would say； ‘You hear him？’ John； who was greatly shocked at this
breach of decorum； clapped his finger to his nose； and shook his
head in mute remonstrance。
‘He knows him； sir；’ said John； frowning aside at Barnaby； ‘as
well as you or I do。’
‘I haven’t the pleasure of much acquaintance with the
gentleman；’ returned his guest。 ‘You may have。 Limit the
comparison to yourself； my friend。’
Although this was said with the same easy affability； and the
same smile； John felt himself put down； and laying the indignity at
Barnaby’s door； determined to kick his raven； on the very first
opportunity。
‘Give that；’ said the guest； who had by this time sealed the note；
and who beckoned his messenger towards him as he spoke； ‘into
Mr Haredale’s own hands。 Wait for an answer； and bring it back to
me here。 If you should find that Mr Haredale is engaged just now；
tell him—can he remember a message； landlord？’
‘When he chooses； sir；’ replied John。 ‘He won’t forget this one。’
‘How are you sure of that？’
John merely pointed to him as he stood with his head bent
forward； and his earnest gaze fixed closely on his questioner’s
face； and nodded sagely。
‘Tell him then； Barnaby； should he be engaged；’ said Mr
Chester； ‘that I shall be glad to wait his convenience here； and to
see him （if he will call） at any time this evening。—At the worst I
can have a bed here； Willet； I suppose？’
Charles Dickens