At this moment Abraham rolled into the office, and Fanks at once pounced on him as being more likely to give information than his superior.
"Oh, here's the postman," he cried, radiantly. "Here, postman, did you deliver a letter to Monsieur Guinaud at Wosk's shop about the beginning of this month?"
"I can't tell State secrets," said Abraham in his fat voice, "it's treesin."
"Oh, you won't come to Tower Hill for telling me this," replied Fanks, good-humouredly.
"I don't know nothin' about your Tower Hills," growled the portly one, sulkily, "but I ain't going to tell nothin', I ain't. Mother and me's sworn, we are."
Fanks did not want his true occupation to be known, but he saw perfectly well that he would get nothing out of the faithful Abraham unless he adopted strong measures, so he made up his mind how to act at once.
"Look here, my man," he said, taking Abraham to one side and speaking sharply. "I'm a detective, and you must give me a plain answer to a plain question."
"I ain't bin doin' nothin' wrong," whimpered Abraham, edging away from the representative of the law; "I'll tell you anythin' you like as long as it isn't State secrets."
"This isn't a State secret," said Fanks, quickly, putting a half-a-crown into the lad's fat hand; "just tell me if you delivered a thick packet to Monsieur Guinaud on the 15th of this month?"
The faithful servant of the State was not proof against bribery, so he answered at once: