‘Turned you faint, sir! Seems you’re not accustomed to this kind of work?’
The stranger, who was leaning against the chimneypiece with drooping head, looked round and answered, ‘No. It’s a horrible sight!’
‘You expected to identify, I am told, sir?’
‘Yes.’
‘Have you identified?’
‘No. It’s a horrible sight. O! a horrible, horrible sight!’
‘Who did you think it might have been?’ asked Mr Inspector. ‘Give us a description, sir. Perhaps we can help you.’
‘No, no,’ said the stranger; ‘it would be quite useless. Good-night.’
Mr Inspector had not moved, and had given no order; but, the satellite slipped his back against the wicket, and laid his left arm along the top of it, and with his right hand turned the bull’s-eye he had taken from his chief—in quite a casual manner—towards the stranger.
‘You missed a friend, you know; or you missed a foe, you know; or you wouldn’t have come here, you know. Well, then; ain’t it reasonable to ask, who was it?’ Thus, Mr Inspector.