Here Mrs. Purr, who had entered and was dropping curtseys to the majesty of the law, as represented by Hurd, thought an undue advantage was being taken of her position. She wished to talk herself, and interrupted Paul, in a shrill voice.
"Granny Clump, she is," said Mrs. Purr, folding her hands under her apron. "Tray's gran'mother, as 'is name is Tray Clump, I swear on my Bible oath. A wicked old woman as is famous for drink—"
"I've heard of her," said the detective, remembering; "she's been up heaps of times."
"And grows no better," wailed Mrs. Purr, bibulously, for she had been strengthening herself for the interview with frequent libations of gin. "Oh, what a thing strong drink is, sir! But Granny Clump, bein' ill with the lungses, and me bein' 'elpful in sich cases, 'aving bin a nuss, when young, as I won't deceive you by denying, called on me to be a good Smart 'un. And I wos, though she swore awful, saying she wanted gin an' jellies, an' could 'ave 'ad them, if that limb—so did she name Tray, gentlemen both—'ad only 'anded to 'er the rich brooch he brought 'ome, just afore he went to earn a decent livin' at the lawr orfice, which 'is name is Pash—"
"Ha," said Hurd, thoughtfully, "I'll see the boy."
"You can see him now," said Beecot, unexpectedly. "When I learned this from Mrs. Purr and knew you were coming, I sent a message to Pash's office for the boy. He came up quite unsuspectingly, but he refused to speak. I shut him up in a back room, and Deborah has been watching him—"
"An' the languige of that blessed limb!" exclaimed Mrs. Purr, raising her hands.
"Bring him in," said Hurd. "Miss Norman, if the boy uses bad language, you needn't stay."
Sylvia, having heard what Tray could do in this way, needed no further hint. She left the room gladly, and told Deborah to bring along her prisoner. Shortly, the noise of kicking and strong language was heard coming nearer, and Deborah, with a red face and a firm mouth, appeared at the door, holding aloft a small boy who was black in the face with rage. "There," said Deborah, flinging Tray in a heap at the detective's feet, "if me an' Bart 'ave sich a brat, I 'ope he dies in his cradle, instead of growing to a galler's thief in th' use of words which make me shudder, let alone my pretty. Ugh!" she shook her fist at Tray. "You Old Bailey viper, though young at that."