At last the prisoner’s self-control went. He threw up his manacled hands with a gesture of despair.
‘My Gawd!’ he cried hoarsely. ‘I can’t.’
The Inspector jumped.
‘Can’t?’ he cried sharply. ‘What’s that? Can’t? What do you mean?’
‘I don’t know where it is. I don’t, I swear. See ’ere, boss,’ the words now poured out of his mouth in a rapid stream, ‘I’ll tell you the truth, I will, swelp me Gawd. Listen to me.’
They had reached the City and were rapidly approaching Scotland Yard. The Inspector gave instructions for the car to be turned and run slowly through the quieter streets. Then he bent over to the now almost frantic man.
‘Pull yourself together and tell me your story. Let’s have the whole of it without keeping anything back, and remember the truth is your only chance.’
Palmer’s statement, divested of its cockney slang and picturesque embellishments was as follows:—
‘I suppose you know all about the way Mr. Felix hired the dray,’ began Palmer, ‘and painted it in the shed, and about my mate Jim Brown and me?’ The Inspector nodded, and he continued: ‘Then I don’t need to tell you all that part of it, only that Jim and I from the first were suspicious that there was something crooked about the whole business. Mr. Felix told us he had a bet on that he could get the cask away without being caught, but we didn’t believe that, we thought he was out to steal it. Then when he told us that stevedore fellow was to be fixed so he couldn’t follow us, we were both quite sure it was a do. Then you know how Felix and I left Jim and him in the bar and went back to the shed and repainted the dray? You know all that?’
‘I know,’ said Burnley.