CHAPTER XIV
The auctioneer, famous the world over for holding the last rites over the mortuary remains of many a defunct library, was positive that the offices of All the Year Round were on the corner some few streets above and that I "couldn't miss it." Another intelligent gentleman, also versed in books, was pretty positive that I could miss it, and with the greatest ease, as the building had been torn down these many years.
A third individual, who kept a chemist shop on the supposed site, had never once heard the magazine mentioned since he had lived here, and he would certainly have done so had there been any such publication. He knew Dickens; that is, he had heard of him … he was dead, of course; he supposed I knew that (I nodded assent)—had been dead some years, long before his own shop was opened. His assistant might know—he'd call him; he had a great head for remembering things.
The chemist did not raise his voice in summoning his assistant—it wasn't necessary, for that individual was hidden behind a sort of cashier's box with a half-round hole through which prescriptions were passed and against which I
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