"Ho," said Jessop, drawing his hand across his mouth, "'twas this way, d'ye see. I come round here lots, and a swell come too, a cold—"
"Grexon Hay," said Hurd, pointing to the photograph.
"Yes. That's him," said Jessop, staring, "and I hated him just, with his eye-glass and his sneerin' ways. He loved the kid, now a growed, fine gal, as you know, and come here often. In June—at the end of it anyhow—he comes and I hears him tells Mrs. Krill, who was always looking for her husband, that a one-eyed bookseller in Gwynne Street, Drury Lane, had fainted when he saw the very identical brooch showed him by another cove."
"Beecot. I know. Didn't you wonder how the brooch had left the pawnshop?" asked Hurd, very attentive.
"No, I didn't," snarled Jessop, who was growing cross. "I knew old Tinker's assistant had sold the brooch and he didn't oughter t' have done it, as I wanted it back. Mrs. Krill asked me about the brooch, and wanted it, so I said I'd get it back. Tinker said it was gone, but wrote to the gent as bought it."
"Mr. Simon Beecot, of Wargrove, in Essex."
"That wos him; but the gent wouldn't give it back, so I 'spose he'd given it to his son. Well, then, when Mrs. Krill heard of the one-eyed man fainting at sight of the brooch, she knew 'twas her husband, as he'd one eye, she having knocked the other out when he was sober."
"Did she go up and see him?"
"Well," said Jessop, slowly, "I don't rightly know what she did do, but she went up. I don't think she saw Krill at his shop, but she might have seen that Pash, who was Mr. Hay's lawyer, and a dirty little ape o' sorts he is."
"Ha," said Hurd, to himself, "I thought Pash knew about the women beforehand. No wonder he stuck to them and gave poor Miss Norman the go-bye," he rubbed his hands and chuckled. "Well, we'll see what will come of the matter. Go on, Jessop."