“You hate him then?”
“I never liked him, if that’s what you want to know.”
“Oh, I do not want to know anything about his doings, or about his enemies. All I want is my son. Will you help me to find him?”
“I’ll do what I can to serve you, but you musn’t bother me as you’ve been doing lately. If I learn anything about him I’ll let you know.”
“You promise that?”
“I do. There’s a mystery about this young shaver, but it aint no business of mine. You want to see him?”
“I do.”
“Well, if I can put you on the scent I will—that’s all I have to say. So now you had better step it, for my friends yonder are wondering what business I have with you, so make tracks as soon as possible, or may be we shall get into the mire.”
The woman drew from her pocket a piece of dirty crumpled paper, which she handed to Bandy-legged Bill.
“There is my name and address,” said she, “and, oh, Mr. Rawton, I pray you to do your best. Restore my son to me, and I shall owe you a lasting debt of gratitude.”