“I don’t know about that.”
“They hail from Scotland Yard.”
“That’s about the size of it, I fancy.”
“Thank you, Dick. That’s all I wanted to know. Been here long?”
“An hour and more.”
“I see rocks ahead. Good night.”
Cooney did not want to make any further inquiries. He saw which way the land lay, and acted accordingly. There wasn’t much chance of the gipsy making his appearance at the lodging-house for that night, or a good many more after. Cooney “blew the gaff,” gave the alarm, and of course Bill Rawton was very shortly far away from the scene of action.
The night wore on.
Mr. Wrench and his are anecdotal lively companion began to consider the case as hopeless. The latter had done so on the outset, and Wrench was fast inclining to his friend’s opinion.
But Wrench was a most persevering officer, and was not one to give up easily when he had made up his mind to any course of action.