“Beggin’ your pardon, sir,” said Sam, advancing with a bow, “my master’s here, Mr. Pott.”

“Hush! hush!” cried Pott, drawing Sam into the room, and closing the door, with a countenance of mysterious dread and apprehension.

“Wot’s the matter, Sir?” inquired Sam, looking vacantly about him.

“Not a whisper of my name,” replied Pott; “this is a buff neighbourhood. If the excited and irritable populace knew I was here, I should be torn to pieces.”

“No! Vould you, sir?” inquired Sam.

“I should be the victim of their fury,” replied Pott. “Now young man, what of your master?”

“He’s a-stopping here tonight on his vay to town, with a couple of friends,” replied Sam.