"'But what has she gone for?'
"'It's about Mr. Felix.'
"'About Mr. Felix!' he exclaimed.
"'So she ses.'
"'But what is the meaning of it, Sophy?'
"'I can't tell yer. All I know is I meets aunty with a face like pickled cabbage, running and blowing and 'olding 'er sides, and I arks 'er what she's in sech a 'urry about. 'It's about poor Mr. Felix,' she ses, as well as she could speak; she was that out of breath she could 'ardly git 'er words out. 'They've found out somethink, and they've sent for me to the perlice station. You go 'ome at once and wait till I come back.' 'Ow shall I get in?' I arks; aunty never gives me the door-key; ketch 'er doing that! 'Ow shall I get in?' 'There's a gent there,' ses aunty, as 'ill open the door for yer.' 'I goes and knocks, and as no gent comes and opens the door for me, I takes a walk.'
"'Is that all you know, Sophy?'
"'That's all. I don't keep nothink from you--not likely.'
"'Can you tell me the name of the police station?'
"'Oh, yes, I can tell yer that. Bow Street.'