This evening when Grace had stopped her lover on his beat, Cookie had suggested that they should borrow the key and let him into the kitchen by the side-passage. That was why Peter heard a man’s voice when he crept stealthily into the basement. The sound was so unexpected that he paused to listen without any intention of eavesdropping.
“It started Christmas mornin’, didn’t it, Grice?” It was Cookie speaking. “The door was h’on the latch, the milk was watered, the sorsage-rolls and me cushion was gone. We blimed the cat at first. H’I was that h’angry, I threw a broom at ‘er. Not but wot I might ‘a known as no cat could water milk if I’d ‘a stopped ter thought. And then Master Peter, ‘im that’s so ginerous, ‘e forgets to give anyone ‘is Christmas presents. H’it beats creation, so it does. And h’ever since then, though I h’ain’t said much abart it, ‘cause I didn’t want ter git ‘is pa h’angry, h’ever since then h’its been goin’ h’on. One day h’it’s h’eggs missin’. ‘Nother day h’it’s beef—little nibbles like h’all round. And yer may taik my word for h’it, the little master’s h’at the bottom h’of it. What d’yer sye abart that, Mr. Somp? Yer ‘andle crimes, don’t yer? Wot’s yer sudgestion?”
Mr. Somp was the name of Grace’s policeman. Mr. Somp thought. “Kid’s got a h’appetite, ain’t ‘e?” he procrastinated. “I ‘ad a h’appetite once.—But h’I wouldn’t ‘a believed it h’of ‘im.”
Grace giggled. She had evidently felt the pressure of a burly arm. “Not so frisky, cop. You ‘old too ‘ard. I ain’t a drunk and disorderly.” Then, taking up the thread of the conversation, “A fine policeman you are! ‘Ow could a little boy h’eat Cookie’s cushion?”
Mr. Somp growled. Peter could imagine how he threw out his hands as he said with all the weight of the noncommittal law, “Ah, there yer are!”
“Come h’orf it, dearie. Yer don’t know nothing.” Grace tittered.
“H’if that’s so, h’I’d best be goin’.”
Cookie laughed. “Ain’t ‘e the boy for losin’ ‘is ‘air? And me cookin’ ‘im a h’om’let? Yer’ll ‘ave a ‘andful ter manage, Grice, when yer marry. ‘Is temper’s nawsty.”
Mr. Somp must have changed his mind at the mention of the omelet, for he postponed his departure.
In the dining-room Peter found Glory alone.