“What is the matter, gentlemen?” inquired Boniface.
“Murder’s the matter; that’s all, my friend,” answered Mr. Wrench. “And this man is my prisoner.”
“Prisoner! Are you in the force?”
“I am a detective from Scotland-yard. I know my duty; let that suffice.”
“Well, this is a pretty business,” exclaimed the landlord. “Never had such a thing as this occur in my house. I can’t make it out rightly.”
“It will be made pretty clear very shortly, I expect; but that does not much matter as far as you are concerned.”
“It’s no business of mine, that be sartin,” said the landlord, “but I wish it had taken place any where but here. Howsomever, it can’t be helped.”
“What be goin’ to do wi’ yer man, measter?” cried a countryman.
“What do you suppose, you silly fellow,” answered Wrench; take him to the lock-up, to be sure. Doughty, just go outside and bring in a policeman or two.”
“Ah, ah! that is if ye can find ’em,” observed the countryman. “They’re seldom in the way when they be wanted.”