ight to the third
storey, seize a bell, and pull it. It gives six or seven fearful peals
inside.

A maid comes out and opens the door. I notice that she has round, gold
drops in her ears, and black stuff buttons on her grey bodice. She
looks at me with a frightened air.

I inquire for Kierulf--Joachim Kierulf, if I might add further--a
wool-dealer; in short, not a man one could make a mistake about....

The girl shook her head. "No Kierulf lives here," said she.

She stared at me, and held the door ready to close it. She made no
effort to find the man for me. She really looked as if she knew the
person I inquired for, if she would only take the trouble to reflect a
bit. The lazy jade! I got vexed, turned my back on her, and ran
downstairs again.

"He wasn't there," I called to the driver.

"Wasn't he there?"

"No. Drive to Tomtegaden, No. 11." I was in a state of the most violent
excitement, and imparted something of the same feeling to the driver.
He evidently thought it was a matter of life and death, and he drove
on, without further ado. He whipped up the horse sharply.

"What's the man's name?" he inquired, turning round on the box.

"Kierulf, a dealer in wool--Kierulf."

And the driver, too, thought this was a man one would not be likely to
make any mistake about.

"Didn't he generally wear a light morning, coat?"

"What!" I cried; "a light morning-coat? Are you mad? Do you think it is
a tea-cup I am inquiring about?" This light morning-coat came most
inopportunely; it spoilt the whole man for me such as I had fancied him.

"What was it you said he was called?--Kierulf?"

"Of course," I replied. "Is there anything wonderful in that? The name
doesn't disgrace any one."

"Hasn't he red hair?"

Well, it was quite possible that he had red hair, and now that the
driver mentioned the matter, I was suddenly convinced that he was
right. I felt grateful to the poor driver, and hastened to inform him
that he had hit the man off to a T--he really was just as he described
him,--and I remarked, in addition, that it would be a phenomenon to see
such a man without red hair.

"It must be him I drove a couple of times," said the driver; "he had a
knobbed stick."

This brought the man vividly before me, and I said, "Ha, ha! I suppose
no one has ever yet seen the man without a knobbed stick in his hand,
of that you can be certain, quite certain."

Yes, it was clear that it was the same man he had driven. He r