“Pegon had probably a greater acquaintance with the skittle-sharping fraternity than any other man in London.
“He knew them all, and when they occasionally took a trip into the country Pegon would miss the familiar face, find out where he was gone, and telegraph to the police of Birmingham, Manchester, or Liverpool, and they would exercise such a strict look-out that their vigilance would soon drive the sharper back to his old haunts and associates.
“When Pegon met him on his return, he would smile sardonically and say—
“‘Back again—eh? Change of air is goot for your ’elth;’ and his mouth would distend itself into a broad grin.
“It was rumoured that Pegon was occasionally heavily bribed by the thieves to allow them to remain unmolested; but his superiors took no notice of this scandal, as they always found him an active and intelligent officer; and if a man was wanted particularly, and Pegon was applied to for his apprehension, he was almost always forthcoming at a specified time. Pegon was sitting in the parlour of the ‘Three Spies,’ smoking contentedly, and drinking out of a pewter pot, which contained nothing stronger than the best old and mild ale. He rose when he saw me, and exclaimed, in a genial tone—
“‘Ah, sir, it ees you! How you carry yourself? Sit down—’ere is a chair.’
“Taking out his handkerchief, with true politeness, he dusted the bottom of it, and handed it to me.
“‘Good morning, Pegon,’ I said; ‘I have come to consult you on a matter of some importance.’
“‘Yaes—yaes.’
“‘Three days ago a countryman was robbed by a skittle sharper at the ‘Duke’s Head,’ in Westminster.’