He went off to the other shop. This was a bigger establishment altogether. Mr. Cook, the owner, was there, cutting up meat with his two assistants.
‘You got a boy here, delivering your meat for you?’ asked Mr. Goon.
‘Yes, two,’ said Mr. Cook. ‘Dear me, I hope they haven’t either of them got into trouble, Mr. Goon. They’re good boys, both of them.’
‘One of them isn’t,’ said Mr. Goon grimly. ‘Where are they? You let me see them.’
‘They’re out in the yard at the back, packing their baskets with meat-deliveries,’ said Mr. Cook. ‘I’ll come with you. Dear me, I do hope it’s nothing serious.’
He took Mr. Goon out to the back. The policeman saw two boys. One was fair-haired with blue eyes and the other was black-haired, dark as a gypsy.
‘Well, there they are, Mr. Goon,’ said Mr. Cook. ‘Which of them is the rascal?’
The boys looked up, surprised. Mr. Goon took one look and scowled. ‘They’re neither of them the boy I want,’ he said. ‘I want a red-headed fellow.’
‘There aren’t any red-headed delivery-boys here, sir,’ said the fair-haired lad. ‘I know them all.’
Mr. Goon snorted and went back into the shop.