"'I'm agreeable. And now what do you make of me?'
"'Wait a bit,' said Sophy. Unblushingly she lifted her frock, and tied the coppers in her ragged petticoat, tightening the knots with her teeth, which were as white as snow. 'That's my money-box, and I've got some more in it. What do I make of you? Oh, I knows what you are. You can't gammon me.'
"'What am I?'
"'You belong to the Perlice Noos, that's what you do. You've come to make pickchers. Pickcher of the 'ouse where the body was found. Pickcher of the room where the body was laid. Pickcher of the body's bed. Pickcher of the body's slippers. Pickcher of Mrs. Middlemore, the body's 'ousekeeper. Oh, I say, make a pickcher of me, will you? I'll buy a copy.'
"'Perhaps, if you're good. But you must answer a question or two first.'
"'All serene. Fire away!'
"'You went upstairs last night with your aunt after you had your supper?'
"'Yes, I did.'
"'You did not go into the rooms?'
"'No, I didn't.'