"What do you want? What have you seen?" Though he spoke fiercely, his teeth chattered. "Oh—it's you!" he exclaimed, recognising me through my soot.
"Mr. Plinlimmon—" I began.
"I didn't do it. I didn't—" He broke off. "For Heaven's sake, how are we to get down out of this?"
"There's no way on the street side," I answered, "unless—"
He took me up short. "The street? We can't go that way—it's as much as my neck's worth. Yours, too."
"Mr. Trapp's waiting for me," I answered stupidly.
"Who knows who isn't waiting?" he snapped. "We'll have to cut out of this." He pointed downward on the side away from the street. "I say, what happened? Who did it, eh?"
"I slipped in the chimney," I answered again. "He wanted his chimneys swept this morning. We knocked—Mr. Trapp and I—and no one answered: then we tried the door, and it opened. There was no one about, and no one in the street but Sergeant Letcher."
He began to shake. "Sergeant Letcher? What do you know about Sergeant Letcher?"
"Nothing, except that he was in the street—the man the bull chased, you know."