A brief letter-reading silence was broken by the Murdstone man, very angry indeed.
‘Monstrous!’ he said; ‘and left in the public road for any stranger to see! Monstrous! There’s not a word of truth in it.’
‘You can tell that to the Magistrate,’ said the Police. ‘Beg pardon, sir, I mean I think I’ve cleared up this little difficulty for you.’
‘I suppose I can get a trap in the village?’ the Murdstone man asked.
‘At the Green Dragon, sir.’
‘Right,’ said Mr. Macpherson smartly. ‘Good morning!’ And he turned and walked quickly away, leaving the Police planted there, as they say in France.
‘Well—I’m—dished!’ said the Police aloud, after a moment’s silence, to what he supposed to be solitude; ‘not so much as tuppence to drink his blooming bad health in. The stingy blighter! He can look for his own boys after this. And I hope the young ’un gets off, so I do.’
‘Same here,’ whispered William behind the grey oak paling.
The Police walked heavily away.