he recognised the mail from London, and saw that it was standing at the little post-office. He almost knew what was to come, but he crossed over and listened.
The guard was standing at the door waiting for the letter-bag. A man dressed like a gamekeeper came up at the moment, and he handed him a basket which lay ready on the pavement.
"That's for your people," said the guard. "Now, look alive in there, will you."
"Damn that 'ere bag, it warn't ready night afore last: this won't do, you know."
"Anything new up in town, Ben?" asked the gamekeeper, drawing back to the window-shutters, the better to admire the horses.
"No, nothing that I knows on," replied the man, pulling on his gloves. "Corn's up a little. I heerd talk of a murder, too, down Spitalfields way, but I don't reckon much upon it."
"Oh, that's quite true," said a gentleman inside, who was looking out of the window. "And a very dreadful murder it was."
