The underlying churchyard was already settling into deep dim shade, and the shade was creeping up to the housetops among which they sat.

'As if,' said Eugene, 'as if the churchyard ghosts were rising.' He had walked to the window with his cigar in his mouth, to exalt its flavour by comparing the fireside with the outside, when he stopped midway on his return to his arm-chair, and said: 'Apparently one of the ghosts has lost its way, and dropped in to be directed.

Look at this phantom!' Lightwood, whose back was towards the door, turned his head, and there, in the darkness of the entry, stood a something in the likeness of a man: to whom he addressed the not irrelevant inquiry, 'Who the devil are you ?' 'I ask your pardons, Governors,' replied the ghost, in a hoarse double-barrelled whisper, 'but might either on you be Lawyer Lightwood ?' 'What do you mean by not knocking at the door ?' demanded Mortimer.
'I ask your pardons, Governors,' replied the ghost, as before, 'but probable you was not aware your door stood open.' 'What do you want ?' Hereunto the ghost again hoarsely replied, in its double-barrelled manner, 'I ask your pardons, Governors, but might one on you be Lawyer Lightwood ?' 'One of us is,' said the owner of that name.
'All right, Governors Both,' returned the ghost, carefully closing the room door; ''tickler business.' Mortimer lighted the candles.

They showed the visitor to be an ill-looking visitor with a squinting leer, who, as he spoke, fumbled at an old sodden fur cap, formless and mangey, that looked like a furry animal, dog or cat, puppy or kitten, drowned and decaying.
'Now,' said Mortimer, 'what is it ?' 'Governors Both,' returned the man, in what he meant to be a wheedling tone, 'which on you might be Lawyer Lightwood ?' 'I am.' 'Lawyer Lightwood,' ducking at him with a servile air, 'I am a man as gets my living, and as seeks to get my living, by the sweat of my brow.
Not to risk being done out of the sweat of my brow, by any chances, I should wish afore going further to be swore in.' 'I am not a swearer in of people, man.' The visitor, clearly anything but reliant on this assurance, doggedly muttered 'Alfred David.' 'Is that your name ?' asked Lightwood.
'My name ?' returned the man.

'No; I want to take a Alfred David.' (Which Eugene, smoking and contemplating him, interpreted as meaning Affidavit.) 'I tell you, my good fellow,' said Lightwood, with his indolent laugh, 'that I have nothing to do with swearing.' 'He can swear AT you,' Eugene explained; 'and so can I.But we can't do more for you.' Much discomfited by this information, the visitor turned the drowned dog or cat, puppy or kitten, about and about, and looked from one of the Governors Both to the other of the Governors Both, while he deeply considered within himself.