The stout man was regarding him with some displeasure.
‘You weren’t thinking of buying it?’ he said.
‘No, thanks, but if you want a deposit before you let me take it, I want to be sure it won’t sit down with me.’
They returned to the office, discussing rates. Finally these were arranged, and it was settled that when Burnley had seen his friend he was to telephone the result.
The Inspector left the yard well pleased. He had now complete proof that his theories were correct and that Watty with that dray had really stolen the cask.
Returning to Goole Street he called at the Post Office. It was ten minutes to twelve, and there being no message for him he stood waiting at the door. Five minutes had not elapsed before a street arab appeared, looked him up and down several times, and then said:—
‘Name o’ Burnley?’
‘That’s me,’ returned the Inspector. ‘Got a note for me?’
‘The other cove said as ’ow you’ld give me a tanner.’
‘Here you are, sonny,’ said Burnley, and the sixpence and the note changed owners. The latter read:—