He said "You had better go upstairs, and speak to Mr.Scorrier--top of the house." I put my lips to the old fellow's ear-trumpet, and asked who Mr.
Scorrier was.
"Brother-in-law to Mr.Wycomb.

Mr.Wycomb's dead.

If you want to buy the business apply to Mr.Scorrier." Receiving that reply, I went upstairs, and found Mr.Scorrier engaged in engraving a brass door-plate.

He was a middle-aged man, with a cadaverous face and dim eyes After the necessary apologies, I produced my photograph.
"May I ask, sir, if you know anything of the inscription on that knife ?" I said.
He took his magnifying glass to look at it.
"This is curious," he remarked quietly.

"I remember the queer name--Zebedee.