'Here, my man,' he said, 'a word with you.' The fellow moved towards him reluctantly, and with suspicion.

'Who is it lies dead there ?' Sir George asked.
'Your honour knows,' the man answered cautiously.
'No, I don't.' 'Then you will be the only one in Oxford that does not,' the fellow replied, eyeing him oddly.
'Maybe,' Soane answered with impatience.

'Take it so, and answer the question,' 'It is Masterson, that was the porter at Pembroke.' 'Ah! And how did he die ?' 'That is asking,' the man answered, looking shiftily about.

'And it is an ill business, and I want no trouble.

Oh, well'-- he continued, as Sir George put something in his hand--'thank your honour, I'll drink your health.