"You needn't worry they haven't got any old clew," said Gerald, still attentive to the piano leg.
"I didn't mean the clew; I meant the confederate."
"It's a pity you think he's a pity, because he was me," said Gerald, standing up and leaving the piano leg alone. He looked straight before him, as the boy on the burning deck may have looked.
"I couldn't help it," he said. "I know you'll think I'm a criminal, but I couldn't do it. I don't know how detectives can. I went over a prison once, with father; and after I'd given the tip to Johnson I remembered that, and I just couldn't. I know I'm a beast, and not worthy to be a British citizen."
"I think it was rather nice of you," said Mabel kindly. "How did you warn them?"
"I just shoved a paper under the man's door the one that I knew where he lived to tell him to lie low."
"Oh! do tell me what did you put on it exactly?" Mabel warmed to this new interest. "It said: 'The police know all except your names. Be virtuous and you are safe. But if there's any more burgling I shall split and you may rely on that from a friend.' I know it was wrong, but I couldn't help it. Don't tell the others. They wouldn't understand why I did it. I don't understand it myself."
"I do, said Mabel: it's because you've got a kind and noble heart."
"Kind fiddlestick, my good child!" said Gerald, suddenly losing the burning boy expression and becoming in a flash entirely himself. "Cut along and wash your hands; you're as black as ink."
"So are you," said Mabel, "and I'm not. It's dye with me. Auntie was dyeing a blouse this morning. It told you how in Home Drivel and she's as black as ink too, and the blouse is all streaky. Pity the ring won't make just parts of you invisible the dirt, for instance."