He turned the coins over in his thin black fingers. “Where were they, John?”

“Here in the cash-box with all the rest of the money. Where in the world can they have come from, Mr Black?”

“I am as puzzled as you are. I have no explanation to offer.” Stephen turned to Mrs Brandy. “My chief concern, ma’am, is that you should protect yourself from any suspicion that you have come by the money dishonestly. I think you must give the money to a lawyer. Instruct him to advertise in The Times and The Morning Chronicle to discover if any one lost twenty-five guineas in Mrs Brandy’s shop.”

“A lawyer, Mr Black!” cried Mrs Brandy, horrified. “Oh, but that will cost a world of money!”

“Lawyers always do, ma’am.”

At that moment a gentleman in St. James’s-street passed Mrs Brandy’s shop and, discerning a golden radiance shining out of the chinks in the shutters, realized that someone was within. He happened to be in need of tea and sugar and so he knocked upon the door.

“Customer, Toby!” cried Mrs Brandy.

Toby hurried to open the door and John put the money away. The instant that he closed the lid of the cash-box, the room became dark and for the first time they realized that they had been seeing each other by the light of the eerie coins. So John ran around, relighting the lamps and making the place look cheerful and Toby weighed out the things which the customer wanted.

Stephen Black sank into a chair and passed his hand across his forehead. He looked grey-faced and tired to death.

Mrs Brandy sat down in the chair next to his and touched his hand very gently. “You are not well, my dear Mr Black.”

“It is just that I ache all over – as a man does who has been dancing all night.” He sighed again and rested his head upon his hand.

Mrs Brandy withdrew her hand. “I did not know there was a ball last night,” she said. There was a tinge of jealousy to her words. “I hope you had a most delightful time. Who were your partners?”

“No, no. There was no ball. I seem to have all the pains of dancing, without having had any of the pleasure.” He raised his head suddenly. “Do you hear that?” he asked.

“What, Mr Black?”

“That bell. Tolling for the dead.”

She listened a moment. “No, I do not hear any thing. I hope you will stay to supper, my dear Mr Black? It would do us so much honour. I fear it will not be a very elegant meal. There is very little. Hardly anything at all. Just some steamed oysters and a pigeon-pie and a harrico of mutton. But an old friend like you will make allowances, I am sure. Toby can fetch some …”

“Are you certain you do not hear it?”

“No.”

“I cannot stay.” He looked as if he meant to say something more – indeed he opened his mouth to say it, but the bell seemed to intrude itself upon his attention again and he was silent. “Good evening to you!” He rose and, with a rapid half-bow, he walked out.