enchers determined to have his door broken open, as he hadn't
paid any rent for two years. So they did. Forced the lock; and a
very dusty skeleton in a blue coat, black knee-shorts, and silks, fell
forward in the arms of the porter who opened the door. Queer, that.
Rather, perhaps?" The little old man put his head more on one side,
and rubbed his hands with unspeakable glee.

"I know another case," said the little old man, when his chuckles had
in some degree subsided. "It occurred in Clifford's Inn. Tenant of a
top set--bad character--shut himself up in his bedroom closet, and
took a dose of arsenic. The steward thought he had run away; opened
the door and put a bill up. Another man came, took the chambers,
furnished them, and went to live there. Somehow or other he couldn't
sleep--always restless and uncomfortable. 'Odd,' says he. 'I'll make
the other room my bedchamber, and this my sitting-room.' He made the
change, and slept very well at night, but suddenly found that,
somehow, he couldn't read in the evening; he got nervous and
uncomfortable, and used to be always snuffing his candles and staring
about him. 'I can't make this out,' said he, when he came home from
the play one night, and was drinking a glass of cold grog, with his
back to the wall, in order that he mightn't be able to fancy there was
any one behind him--'I can't make it out,' said he; and just then his
eyes rested on the little closet that had been always locked up, and a
shudder ran through his whole frame from top to toe. 'I have felt
this strange feeling before,' said he. 'I can't help thinking there's
something wrong about that closet.' He made a strong effort, plucked
up his courage, shivered the lock with a blow or two of the poker,
opened the door, and there, sure enough, standing bolt upright in the
corner, was the last tenant, with a little bottle clasped firmly in
his hand, and his face--well!" As the little old man concluded he
looked round on the attentive faces of his wondering auditory with a
smile of grim delight.

"What strange things these are you tell us of, sir," said Mr.
Pickwick, minutely scanning the old man's countenance by the aid of
his glasses.

"Strange!" said the little old man. "Nonsense; you think them strange
because you know nothing about it. They are funny, but not uncommon."

"Funny!" exc