Michael explained the circumstances which had led up to his knowing Meats.
“I see; and you just wanted to give him a bit of a helping hand. Oh, well, the feeling does you credit, I’m bound to say; but another time, sir, I should make a few inquiries first. We should probably have had him before, if he hadn’t been helped by you. Of course, I quite understand you knew nothing about this murder, but anyone can often do a lot of harm by helping undeserving people. We mightn’t have nabbed him even now, if some woman hadn’t brought us a nice little bit of evidence, and I found some more things myself after a search. Oh, yes, he doesn’t stand an earthly. We knew for a moral cert who did it, straightaway; but the police don’t get a fair chance in England. We let all these blooming Radicals interfere too much. That’s my opinion. Anyone would think the police was a lot of criminals by the way some people talk about them.”
“Is anybody defending him?” Michael asked.
“Oh, he’ll be awarded a counsel,” said the detective indignantly. “For which you and me has to pay. That’s a nice thing, isn’t it? But he doesn’t stand an earthly.”
“Where will he be hanged?”
Michael thought how Mrs. Murdoch in Neptune Crescent would shudder some Tuesday morning in the near future.
“I’m sorry you should have had to come all this way to find me,” Michael said. He hated himself for being polite to the inspector, but he could not help it. He rang the bell.
“Oh, Dawkins, will you give Inspector—what is your name, by the bye?”
“Dawkins,” said the inspector.