“Yes, Mr. Barton, this is quite between ourselves; but there is a man leaning against the doorway opposite—yes, there he is,” and Prescott looked out of the window. “Now, if I wink at that man as I go out, that man will go straight to his home and will keep his mouth shut for the rest of his life; and he is the only man besides myself who knows of that little affair. If I don’t wink at him, I really can’t answer which way he will walk.”
“There are the papers,” the detective said, completely cowed, and taking some papers from an iron safe; “here are copies of certificates of the marriage, and baptism of the child. What else do you want?”
“I want you to go before a magistrate with me, and swear this affidavit I have prepared, saying, that in pursuance of instructions you received from Captain Bradshaw, you traced his daughter from the place where her child was born; that you never lost sight of her, and that she died at John Holl’s, and that the child is the one mentioned in the certificate of baptism.”
Without a word Barton followed Prescott down-stairs, and as they went out stole a glance at the lounging figure opposite, who, with his hands in his pockets, was apparently absorbed in the operation of smoking a pipe, but who, after they had passed, moved leisurely after them. When they came out from the Mansion House, Prescott said,—
“Good morning, Mr. Barton; that is, I think, satisfactory to all parties.”
The detective walked off without saying a word, he was too completely beaten even to retort.
“It’s all right, Slogger,” Prescott said to the man. “He was a dreadful cur. Come to-morrow at eleven o’clock to my rooms in the Temple, and I will hand you over the money.”
“All right, governor, I’ll be there,” and the man turned off again westward.