II.
RAT-TAT! A discreet knock is struck upon the narrow door of Six-four, at the left corner of the Rue Messagliere. This is one of the most comfortable houses in Luktrop – if such a word is known there – one of the richest, if gaining some millions of fretzers, by hook or by crook, constitutes riches.
The rat-tat is answered by a savage bark, in which is much a lupine howl, as if a wolf should bark. Then a window is opened above the door of Six-four, and an ill-tempered voice says, “Deuce take people who come bothering here!”
A young girl, shivering in the rain wrapped in a thin cloak, asks if Dr. Trifulgas is at home.
“He is, or he is not, according to circumstances.”
“I want him to come to my father, who is dying.”
“Where is he dying?”
“At Val Karnion, four kertzes from here.”
“And his name?”
“Vort Kartif.”
“Vort Kartif, the herring-salter?”
“Yes; and if Dr. Trifulgas…”
“Dr. Trifulgas is not at home.”
And the window is closed with a slam, while the swishes of the wind and the swashes of the rain mingle in a deafening uproar.