CHAPTER XV
THE GOOD HERR STARDT
"Where is the rest?" said Beale.
"That's the lot," replied McNorton grimly. "It's the only information you will get from this source for twenty-four hours."
"But I don't understand, it is undoubtedly Miss Cresswell's handwriting."
"And 'Belocity' is as undoubtedly your telegraphic address. This paper," he went on, "was taken from a drunken tramp—'hobo' you call 'em, don't you?"
"Where?"
"At Kingston-on-Thames," said McNorton—"the man was picked up in the street, fighting drunk, and taken to the police station, where he developed delirium tremens. Apparently he has been on the jag all the week, and to-day's booze finished him off. The local inspector in searching him found this piece of paper in his pocket and connected it with the disappearance of Miss Cresswell, the matter being fresh in his mind, as only this morning we had circulated a new description throughout the home counties. He got me on the 'phone and sent a constable up to town with the paper this afternoon."