“Well, sir, if I must speak I must. He said I was a fool.”
“Ah, exactly,” cried the rector, eagerly. Then, checking himself, he said with a deprecating smile: “No, no, Bates, I do not endorse that, for I have always found you a very respectable, intelligent officer, who has most efficiently done his duty in Greythorpe; and unless it were for your benefit, I should be very sorry to hear of your being removed.”
“Thankye, sir; thankye kindly,” said the constable.
“But in this case, through excess of zeal, I am afraid you have gone much too far. Mr Lance Distin is a gentleman, a student, and of very excellent family. A young man of excellent attainments, and about as likely to commit such a brutal assault as you speak of, as—as, well, for want of a better simile, Bates, as I am.”
The constable shook his head and looked very serious.
“Now, tell me your reasons for making such a charge.”
The explanations followed.
“Flimsy in the extreme, Bates,” said the rector triumphantly, and as if relieved of a load. “And you show no more common sense than to charge a gentleman with such a crime solely because you happened to see him walking in that direction.”
“Said he wasn’t out, sir.”
“Well, a slip—a piece of forgetfulness. We might either of us have done the same. But tell me, why have you come here?”