“Quite wise,” responded his friend imperturbably, “because I asked Moon’s permission to take you into our confidence.”
Fuller looked puzzled. “Why?”
Again Dicky replied indirectly. “It seems that Grison, unlucky beggar, had one friend, a street-arab brat called Jotty.”
“Jotty what—or is Jotty a surname?”
“It’s the only name the boy has. He’s a clever little Cockney of fourteen, and wise beyond his years, picking up a living as best he can. Grison used to give him food occasionally, and sometimes money. Jotty ran errands for the man, and was the sole person admitted to his room.”
“Well! well! well!” said Alan impatiently. “I’m coming to it, if you don’t hurry me,” said Latimer coolly. “Jotty on one occasion entered the room, and found Grison nursing between his hands—what do you think?”
“How the deuce should I know?”
“A peacock of jewels!”
Alan stared, and cast a swift glance at the photograph of the pretty girl on the mantelpiece. “A peacock of jewels!” he repeated under his breath.
“Or a jewelled peacock, if you like. Grison put it away when he saw the boy: but that he had such an article is quite certain, as Jotty hasn’t the imagination to describe the thing. Now in spite of all search, Inspector Moon can’t find that peacock, and you may be sure that after Jotty told his tale the inspector searched very thoroughly.