Mrs. Kebby had heard of the blind shadows from several people,
and had poked and pryed about all over the house in the hope of arriving
at some knowledge of the substantial flesh and blood figures which cast
them. But in this quest, which was intended to put money into her own
pocket, she failed entirely; and during the whole six months of Berwin's
tenancy she never saw a living soul in No. 13 save her employer; nor
could she ever find any evidence to show that Berwin had received
visitors during her absence. The man was as great a mystery to Mrs.
Kebby as he was to the square, in spite of her superior opportunities of
learning the truth.

On Christmas Eve the old woman brought in a cold supper for Berwin, as
usual, making several journeys to and fro between hotel and house for
that purpose. She laid the table, made up the fire, and before taking
her leave asked Mr. Berwin if he wanted anything else.

"No, I think not," replied the man, who looked wretchedly ill. "You can
bring my breakfast to-morrow."

"At nine, sir?"

"At the usual time," answered Berwin impatiently. "Go away!"

Mrs. Kebby gave a final glance round to see that all was in order, and
shuffled out of the room as fast as her rheumatism would let her. As she
left the house eight o'clock chimed from the steeple of a near church,
and Mrs. Kebby, clinking her newly-received wages in her pocket, hurried
out of the square to do her Christmas marketing. As she went down the
street which led to it, Blinders, a burly, ruddy-faced policeman, who
knew her well, stopped to make an observation.

"Is that good gentleman of yours home, Mrs. Kebby?" he asked, in the
loud tones used to deaf people.

"Oh, he's home," grumbled Mrs. Kebby ungraciously, "sittin' afore the
fire like Solomon in all his glory. What d'ye want to know for?"

"I saw him an hour ago," explained Blinders, "and I thought he looked
ill."

"So he do, like a corpse. What of that? We've all got to come to it some
day. 'Ow d'ye know but what he won't be dead afore morning? Well, I
don't care. He's paid me up till to-night. I'm going to enj'y myself, I
am."

"Don't you get drunk, Mrs. Kebby, or I'll lock you up."

"Garn!" grunted the old beldame. "Wot's Christmas Eve for, if it ain't
for folk to enj'y theirselves? Y'are on duty early."

"I'm taking the place of a sick comrade, and I'll be on duty all night.
That's my Christmas."

"Well! well! Let every one enj'y hisself as he likes," muttere