No one had lived here since old man Remenham had died some eighteen months ago, for the heir, so it was rumoured, was a relative with property of his own. Listening at one of the doors leading to the Master Debtors' side, he heard a loud voice chanting a Bacchanalian melody, and the boisterous laughter that accompanied the song, convinced him that no suspicion was entertained in this quarter. “Please, Michelle, let’s not fight. “I believe you are quite right so far as regards the present, at any rate,” someone remarked, from the depths of an easy chair. He did not like it.
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