‘I have felt this strange feeling before,’ said he, ‘I cannot help thinking there’s something wrong about that closet.’ He made a strong effort, plucked up his courage, shivered the lock with a blow or two of the poker, opened the door, and there, sure enough, standing bolt upright in the corner, was the last tenant, with a little bottle clasped firmly in his hand, and his face⁠—well!” As the little old man concluded, he looked round on the attentive faces of his wondering auditory with a smile of grim delight.

“What strange things these are you tell us of, Sir,” said Mr. Pickwick, minutely scanning the old man’s countenance, by the aid of his glasses.

“Strange!” said the little old man. “Nonsense; you think them strange, because you know nothing about it. They are funny, but not uncommon.”

“Funny!” exclaimed Mr. Pickwick involuntarily.