"Here," said Tray, rising, much dishevelled, but with a white face, "let me go. I'll 'ave the lawr of you."
"I'll attend to that, my lad," said Hurd, dryly. "Now, then, where did you get that brooch?"
"Sha'n't tell," snapped the boy, and put his tongue out.
Hurd gave him a smack with an open hand on the side of his face, and Master Clump began to blubber.
"Assalting me—oh, won't you ketch it," he raged in his puny wrath. "My master's a law-cove, and he'll 'ave y' up before the beak."
"You answer my questions," said Hurd, sternly, "or you'll get another clout. You know who I am well enough. Make a clean breast of it, you imp, or I'll lock you up."
"If I make a clean breast will you let me cut?" asked Tray, beginning to whimper, but with a cunning gleam in his eyes.
"I'll see, when I know what you have to say."
Tray looked round the room to see if there was any way of escape. But Paul guarded the closed window and Deborah, itching to box his ears, stood before the door. Before him was the stern-faced detective with whom Tray knew well enough he dare not trifle. Under these circumstances he made the best of a bad job, and told what he knew although he interpolated threats all the time. "Wot d'y want with me?" he demanded sulkily.
"Where did you find that brooch?"