"Has he got a father, then?" questioned the doctor, rather, I think, with the object of displaying an intelligent interest than from any genuine curiosity. You are apt to lose your genuine curiosity when this sort of confidence is thrust upon you ten times daily.
"Got a father!" echoed Mrs. West, with evident amazement at the doctor's ignorance. "Ain't you 'eard, then?"
"Heard what?" demanded Dr. Brink.
"About my 'usband. The Midland Malt Comp'ny, you know!'
"Well, really now," replied the doctor, looking painfully confused, "upon my word, I don't know."
"You must go about your business in a very funny way, then," reflected Mrs. West. "It's bin the talk o' Limus. 'E done 'em in for eight 'undred quid—'im an' another man."
"Done 'em in!" repeated the doctor. "Who? What?"
"The Midland Malt Company, same's I told you," expounded Mrs. West. "'E was night watchman, Mr. West was—'im an' another man—an' they took eight 'undred quid. 'E got away with 'arf of it, too. The perlice 'as bin investigatin' ever since."
Dr. Brink still looked a little puzzled. "You mean, in fact—do I understand that your husband stole eight hundred pounds?"
"Mr. West an' another man—yes," responded the woman, quite without feeling. "'Im an' 'is mate, they done in eight 'undred. On'y 'is mate, I'm sorry to say, 'e never got 'is share. The perlice got that. They got 'im, too. But they never got Mr. West."