“But I have. He’s the stepfather of the girl I’m engaged to marry. She would never get over it if he were convicted.”
The pickpocket’s manner changed from sullenness to interest. “Eh, what’s that you say?” he said. “Nah, if you’d told me that at onct, I’m not one to stand between a man and his girl.”
“You’ll come, won’t you?”
The man hesitated. “I don’t say as I won’t,” he said. “But, if I do come, ’twon’t be for any love of your Mr. Brooklyn. I’d see ’im hanged, and glad too, along of what I know.”
“I don’t care why you come, as long as you do come.”
“Well, mister, I’ll come. If yer want to know why, it’s because I’ve took a bit of a fancy to yer. But I’ll ’ave a bit of me own back on that Brooklyn gent, if he gets off bein’ ’ung. I didn’t lift ’is watch off ’im that night; but I will when ’e gets out.”
“Oh, you’re welcome there. Pick his pockets as much as you like.”
“In course yer won’t let on ter the police what I’ve been sayin’. I’ve bin treatin’ yer as if yer was a pal, yer know.”
Ellery promised that his visitor’s calling should be kept a dead secret. Then he gave him a drink and showed him out, after obtaining a renewal of the promise that he would attend in the morning. The man slouched out into the night.
Love did not keep Ellery awake. He was tired, and he slept soundly, only waking in time to snatch a hasty breakfast, and to call for Joan early enough to take her straight round with him to their appointment at Thomas’s office.