“Surely, sir, it’s as plain as a pikestaff now?”
“Not to me, Mullins—not to me.”
Thrush was twinkling behind his great round goggles.
“Then who do you think has done it, sir?” inquired Mullins, in deferential derision.
“Ah! that’s another matter, my man; but I can tell you whom I hope to get arrested within another hour!”
Mullins looked as though he could hardly believe his ears; his jaw, black as a crape hat-band this morning, fell in front of his grimy collar.
“You’re actually thinking of arresting some one else?”
“I am—with your permission, Mullins.”
“Tell me who it is, sir, for Heaven’s sake!”
And with his fattest smile Thrush whispered into an ear that recoiled from his words as though they had been so many drops of boiling oil.