'By the way, he left a letter without an address. Mrs. Hancock—here it is.'
'That'll be his mother; he did tell me about her—lived at Knype, Staffordshire, he said. I'll see to it.'
They gave Darkey the letter.
'So his name's Hancock,' he soliloquized, when he got into the street. 'I knew a girl of that name—once. I'll go and have a pint of four-half.'
At nine o'clock that night Darkey was still consuming four-half, and relating certain adventures by sea which, he averred, had happened to himself. He was very drunk.
'Yes,' he said, 'and them five lil' gals was lying there without a stitch on 'em, dead as meat; 's 'true as I'm 'ere. I've seen a thing or two in my time, I can tell ye.'
'Talking about these Anarchists—' said a man who appeared anxious to change the subject.
'An—kists,' Darkey interrupted. 'I tell ye what I'd do with that muck.'
He stopped to light his pipe, looked in vain for a match, felt in his pockets, and pulled out a piece of paper—the letter.
'I tell you what I'd do. I'd—'