They looked at one another.
“I don’t think I should inquire too closely into that matter,” said Dick. “I owe ‘Broad’ something.”
“I owe him a bit too,” said Elk with a hint of enthusiasm. “Do you know, he taught me a rhyme last night? There are about a hundred and fifty verses, but I only know four. It starts:
William the Conqueror started his tricks,
Battle of Hastings, ten sixty-six.
That’s a grand rhyme, Captain Gordon. If I’d only known that ten years ago I might have been a Chief Commissioner by now!”
He walked down the road towards the station, for he was returning by tram. The sun glittered upon the rain-fringed banners of the hollyhocks that filled the cottagers’ gardens. Then from the hedge a tiny green figure hopped, and Elk stood still and watched it. The little reptile looked round and eyed the detective with black, staring eyes.
“Frog,” Elk raised a reproachful finger, “have a heart and go home—this is not your Day!”
And, as if he understood what the man had said, the frog leaped back to the shelter of the long grass.
THE END