“No, sir,” I said, with my heart sinking. “It’s Mr William Revitts I know.”
“Which his name is William,” he muttered. Then, aloud, “Here, come along.”
“No, no, sir,” I cried in alarm. “Don’t send me back.”
“Come along, I tell yer.”
“What’s up?” said a gruff voice; and a second policeman joined us.
“Don’t quite know yet,” said the first man; and then he said something in a low voice to the other, with the result that, without another word, I was hurried up and down street after street till I felt ready to drop. Suddenly my guide turned into a great blank-looking building and spoke to another policeman, and soon, after a little shouting, a tall, burly-looking constable in his buttoned-up greatcoat came slowly towards us in the whitewashed room.
“Here’s a lad been absconding,” said my guide, “and he says he’ll give you for a reference.”
“Eh! me?” said the newcomer, making me start as he stared hard in my face. “Who are you, boy. I don’t know you.”
“Antony Grace, please, sir,” I faltered.
“And who’s Antony Grace?”