“Yessir, no end. He wos good t’ me, and guv’ me things t’ eat an’ drink. Oh my,” Jotty rubbed his lean stomach vulgarly, “the baked taters an’ corfee and saveloys I hed when he stood sam.”
“Then you would like the man who stabbed him to be punished?” pursued Fuller artfully.
“Yessir; and bring him t’ th’ gallers I shell somehow.”
“But you have no idea who murdered Mr. Grison?” remarked Latimer quickly.
“Oh hevn’t I? Perhaps not, and praps I ain’t sich a fool es you’d think me t’ be, mister. I knows whot I knows anyhow.”
“What is that, Jotty.”
The lad looked indescribably cunning. “I ain’t agoin’ t’ tell till I’m a dead cert es I’m right.”
“But if you tell me, Jotty, I can help you.”
“I don’ want no help,” said the boy sullenly.
“If I speak to Inspector Moon you’ll have to tell,” said Dick sharply.