“No,” said the fellow, chuckling, “in coorse you wouldn’t; and no more you don’t believe as he went down our way arter rats or dorgs.”
“Well, suppose he did not: what then?” said the sergeant.
“Don’t you hurry no man’s cattle; you may have a moke o’ your own some day,” said Screwby, with a grin. “I’m a coming to it fast, I am; so look out. Look ye here, governor,” he said in his hoarse whisper, and he craned his neck towards the impassive officer, “lars Chewsday night was a week as I see him go in theer all alone.”
“Go in where, Jack—in where?” said the sergeant, quietly, but with his eyes a little closer, his ears twitching, and every nerve evidently on the strain.
“Why, ain’t I a tellin’ on ye?—in theer!”
“To be sure, yes, of course,” said the sergeant, quietly, “in there—all right!”
“Yes,” continued Screwby, “in theer—in at D. Wragg’s; and,” continued the fellow, in deep tones, harsh, husky, and like a hoarse whisper sent through some large tube—“and he didn’t come out no more.”