old figure turned in a moment from insolence to servility.
"Good morning, Samuel," said Mr. Kirby briskly. "No, I won't come in, thank you. I only want you to tell me something. I 'm sorry to trouble you. Where 's that Green Overcoat of Mr. Brassington's? He lost it a few days ago, and a friend of mine told me that you were quite likely to know."
I will waste neither my time nor the reader's in describing Mr. Montague's face at hearing this question; but I will say this much, that it looked like one of those faces carved in hard stone, which antiquity has left us, quite white, not expressionless, but with an expression concealed, and as one might swear, dumb. But the face spoke. It said in a very unnatural voice, a voice lacking breath—
"I swear to God I don't know, Mr. Kirby. If I knew, I swear to God I 'd tell you."
"Just tell me what you did with it," said Mr. Kirby easily and rapidly, looking at his watch. "I 've got to fit a lot of things in."
"I swear to God, sir," said the face, "I gave it away."
Mr. Kirby's smile grew stronger, then suddenly ceased. He believed him.
"Was that all, Samuel?" he asked, turning to go. There was a grave suggestion of peril in his voice.
