“So—so do I,” he faltered.
The Inspector leaned back in his chair and took his cigar from his lips.
“Look ’ere,” he said. “Before you asks for your summons you must ’ave your witnesses.”
“That’s right,” said Constable Bloke of the Metropolitan Police.
“Well, where are they?” said the Inspector, with the triumphant air of one who knows that whatever answer he receives can be ground to powder.
P.C. Albert Bloke consulted his notes.
“They was in the car bearin’ the number XH 2908, sir.”
“Then you mus’ see them,” said the Inspector, “an’ take their statemen’s.” He restored his cigar to his mouth. “If they was as near smashed up as wot you say, they’ll be ready enough to come: an’ any way, if you don’t give ’em their choice, they’ll think they’ve got to.”
“That’s right,” said P.C. Bloke.