One man's no such matter as that comes to.' Mr Willet fixed his dull eyes on his follower, and began--by a species of inspiration--to think it just barely possible that he was something of a dangerous character, and that it might be advisable to get rid of him one of these days.

He was too prudent to say anything, with the journey home before him; and therefore turned to the iron gate before which this brief dialogue had passed, and pulled the handle of the bell that hung beside it.

The turret in which the light appeared being at one corner of the building, and only divided from the path by one of the garden-walks, upon which this gate opened, Mr Haredale threw up the window directly, and demanded who was there.
'Begging pardon, sir,' said John, 'I knew you sat up late, and made bold to come round, having a word to say to you.' 'Willet--is it not ?' 'Of the Maypole--at your service, sir.' Mr Haredale closed the window, and withdrew.

He presently appeared at a door in the bottom of the turret, and coming across the garden-walk, unlocked the gate and let them in.
'You are a late visitor, Willet.

What is the matter ?' 'Nothing to speak of, sir,' said John; 'an idle tale, I thought you ought to know of; nothing more.' 'Let your man go forward with the lantern, and give me your hand.