He took a few slow steps towards where the cabman stood by the horse’s head.
“Think they’re all right?” said the cabman, in a husky whisper.
“Give me half-a-crown,” said John Whyley.
“Did they? Wish I’d stood out for a sovereign.”
As he spoke he started his horse slowly, and the cab went by the constable, whose lamp showed the interior very indistinctly, the cab window being drawn up, and then the sight and sound of the vehicle died out in the fog, and all was once more still.
“Ill wind as blows no one any good!” said the constable, slowly continuing his beat. “Rather have my half-crown than their sick headaches in the morning. Rather rum that no one came out with all that talking.”
John Whyley hummed a tune and tried two or three front-doors and area gates, and then he took off his helmet and scratched his head as if puzzled.
“Now, have I done right?” he said suddenly. “Seemed to be square. Smelt of drink horrid. Other two ’peared to be on all but once or twice. I say! Was it acting?”
He gave his helmet a sharp blow with his doubled fist, stuck it on tightly, and took a few quick steps in the direction in which the cab had moved off.
“Tchah!” he ejaculated, stopping short; “that’s the worst o’ my trade; makes a man suspicious of everything and everybody. Why, I nearly accused the missus of picking my pockets of that sixpence I forgot I spent with a mate. It’s all right. They were as tight as tight. Ugh! What a night.”