“‘WHAT’S YOUR NAME?’ ASKED THE INSPECTOR.”
“Whash name? Thash my bishnesh. Warrer wan’ know name for? Grapertnence ask gellumshname. I’m gellum, thash wha’ I am. Besht of shisters too, besht shis’ers”—snivelling again—“an’ I’m ungra’ful beasht. But I shacrifishe ’self; she shan’ get ’n trouble. D’y’ear? Gimmeself up shtealin’ lil boy. Who says I ain’ gellum?”
Nothing more intelligible than this could be got out of him, and presently he was taken off to the cells. Then Hewitt asked the inspector, “What will happen to him now?”
The inspector laughed.
“Oh he’ll get very sober and sick and sorry by the morning,” he said; “and then he’ll have to send home for some money, that’s all.”
“And as to the child?”
“Oh, he’ll forget all about that; that’s only a drunken freak. The child has been recovered. You know that, I suppose?”
“Yes; but I am still after the person who took it away. It was a woman. Indeed, I’ve more than a suspicion that it was the woman who brought the child here when he was lost before—the one with the scar on the neck, you know.”
“Is that so?” said the inspector. “Well, that’s a rum go, ain’t it? What did she bring him back here for if she wanted him again?”
“That I want to find out,” Hewitt answered. “And now I want you to do me a favour. You say you expect that man below will want to send home in the morning for money. Well, I want to be the messenger.”