“Well?” said Mr. Grace, with an instinctive fore-knowledge.
He let Peter explain his errand without comment till he came to the account of the part played by Grace’s policeman.
“‘Oly smoke! ‘Fraid, was ‘e?—But wot yer tellin’ me h’all this for? H’out wiv it?”
“I want you to drive down the mews to-night and take us round to the Misses Jacobite.”
Mr. Grace became very emphatic and solemn. “Cawn’t be done. H’I wash me ‘ands of ‘im. Plottin’ ag’in the law. Too daingerous.”
“Mr. Grace,” asked Peter, softly, “who’s afraid now?”
“H’I’m not. Me afraid o’ Grice’s young man! Was that wot yer was h’insinooating?”
“But aren’t you?”
“No, I ain’t.”
“Then prove it.”