It was between two and three o'clock in the afternoon when Gashford
looked into the lair described in the last chapter, and seeing only
Barnaby and Dennis there, inquired for Hugh.
He was out, Barnaby told him; had gone out more than an hour ago; and
had not yet returned.
'Dennis!' said the smiling secretary, in his smoothest voice, as he sat
down cross-legged on a barrel, 'Dennis!'
The hangman struggled into a sitting posture directly, and with his eyes
wide open, looked towards him.
'How do you do, Dennis?' said Gashford, nodding. 'I hope you have
suffered no inconvenience from your late exertions, Dennis?'
'I always will say of you, Muster Gashford,' returned the hangman,
staring at him, 'that that 'ere quiet way of yours might almost wake a
dead man. It is,' he added, with a muttered oath--still staring at him
in a thoughtful manner--'so awful sly!'
'So distinct, eh Dennis?'
'Distinct!' he answered, scratching his head, and keeping his eyes upon
the secretary's face; 'I seem to hear it, Muster Gashford, in my wery
bones.'
'I am very glad your sense of hearing is so sharp, and that I succeed
in making myself so intelligible,' said Gashford, in his unvarying, even
tone.
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