She became aware of his presence as she had never been aware of any human being in her life before. "Oh!" she gasped. Conceiving himself called upon, as the intimate friend of the deceased, to pay this last tribute of respect to her memory, he appeared as one of the chief mourners. She had never imagined life was half so sinister as it looked to her in the beginning of these investigations. Opposite to it was placed the Jew. His name was Marvel, and his avocation, which was as repulsive as his looks, was that of public executioner. Moving swiftly to the end of the corridor, he pushed open a door at random and entered a large room, which looked to have been a saloon, judging from the faded gilt and crimson wall-paper, a mirror above the fireplace which was surrounded by an ornate gilded frame, now sadly tarnished, and a worn Chippendale sofa with striped upholstery and tasselled cushions. “Let us walk round to Covent Garden,” he suggested.
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