“He is with Carrington and Cleaver, who are carrying on Mr. Bechcombe's clients until, if ever, some one takes on the practice,” pursued the inspector. “And I should like you to hear a story he brought to me this morning.”
Almost as the last word left his lips, the door opened again and a lanky, sandy-haired youth was shown in.
The inspector stepped forward.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Brunton. Now I want you just to repeat to this gentleman, Mr. Steadman, what you told me this morning.”
Mr. Brunton coughed nervously.
“I thought I did right in coming to you.”
“Certainly you did,” the inspector reassured him. “Your evidence is most important. Now, from the beginning, please, Mr. Brunton.”
“Well, it was last night. I left the office early because I had an errand to do for Mr. Carrington,” the youth began. He kept his eyes fixed on the inspector—not once did he glance in Steadman's direction. His hands twisted themselves nervously together. “It took me some time longer than I expected and it was getting late when I started home. You will remember perhaps, inspector, that there was a bit of a fog here, but on the other side of the river where I had to go it was much worse, and the farther I went the denser it became. I got out of the bus at the Elephant, which is not far from my rooms, you know.” He paused.
“I know. Go on, please.”
“Well, I had to walk from there—there's no bus goes anywhere near. The fog was getting dangerous by then. You couldn't see your hand before your face, as the saying is. I know the way well enough in the daylight, but in a fog things look so different. It is a regular network of small streets behind there, you know, and one seemed just like the other. I lost my bearings and began to wonder how I was going to get home. There were no passers-by—I seemed to be the only living creature out—and I was just making up my mind to ring the bell at one of the houses and see if anyone could direct me or help me at all, when a strange thing happened; though I hadn't known there was anyone about, a voice spoke out of the fog close beside me as it seemed. ‘It is the only thing to be done—you can't make a mistake.’ The rejoinder came in a woman's voice. ‘But I can't do it. It wouldn't be safe. They might follow me. You must shake them off if you have any affection for me.’ The man's voice said again, ‘If you have any thought for the future you will get it for me. Would you like to see me in prison and worse? Would you like to be pointed at as——’ That was all I heard, sir.” Mr. Brunton turned himself from Mr. Steadman to the inspector, then back again to Steadman. “I was listening for all I was worth, trying not to miss a word, when that horrid fog got down my throat and tickled me, and before I could help myself I had given a great sneeze. There was a sharp exclamation, and I thought I caught the sound of footsteps deadened by the fog. That was all I could hear, sir—every word,” looking from one to the other.