He had his foot on the treadle, but hesitated.
"I'd warn him myself, but I don't think he'd be glad to see me."
He grinned to himself, then remarked: "Something queer about Minute—eh?"
"There is, indeed," agreed Constable Wiseman heartily. His beat was a lonely one, and he was a very bored man. If by agreement with his officer he could induce that loquacious gentleman to talk for a quarter of an hour, so much dull time might be passed. The fact that Sergeant Smith was loquacious indicated, too, that he had been drinking and was ready to quarrel with anybody.
"Come under the shelter of that wall," said the sergeant, and pushed his machine to the protection afforded by the side wall of a house.
It is possible that the sergeant was anxious to impress upon his subordinate's mind a point of view which might be useful to himself one day.
"Minute is a dangerous old man," he said.
"Don't I know it?" said Constable Wiseman, with the recollection of sundry "reportings" and inquiries.
"You've got to remember that, Wiseman," the sergeant went on; "and by 'dangerous' I mean that he's the sort of old fellow that would ask a constable to come in to have a drink and then report him."
"Good Lord!" said the shocked Mr. Wiseman at this revelation of the blackest treachery.