“Don’t you know?” cried Tiffey, and all the rest of them, coming round me.

“No!” said I, looking from face to face.

“ Mr. Spenlow,” said Tiffey.

“What about him!”

“Dead!” I thought it was the office reeling, and not I, as one of the clerks caught hold of me. They sat me down in a chair, untied my neckcloth, and brought me some water. I have no idea whether this took any time.

“Dead?” said I.

“He dined in town yesterday, and drove down in the phaeton by himself,” said Tiffey, “having sent his own groom home by the coach, as he sometimes did, you know⁠—”

“Well?”