Who had first given information? That was the question. Old John sat smoking in his corner. Journeyman leaned against the yellow-painted partition, his legs thrust out. Stack stood square, his dark, crimson-tinted skin contrasting with sallow-faced little Ketley.
"Don't the omens throw no light on this 'ere matter?" said Journeyman.
Ketley started from his reverie.
"Ah," said William, "if I only knew who the b—— was."
"Ain't you got no idea of any sort?" said Stack.
"There was a Salvation chap who came in some months ago and told my wife that the betting was corrupting the neighbourhood. That it would have to be put a stop to. It may 'ave been 'e."
"You don't ask no one to bet with you. They does as they like."
"Does as they like! No one does that nowadays. There's a temperance party, a purity party, and a hanti-gambling party, and what they is working for is just to stop folk from doing as they like."
"That's it," said Journeyman.
Stack raised his glass to his lips and said, "Here's luck."