The Sergeant jumped, and turned to find Neville Fletcher lounging outside one of the open windows, and regarding him with the smile he so much disliked.
"Oh!" said the Sergeant. "So it's you, is it, sir?"
Neville stepped over the low window-sill into the room. "Oh, didn't you want it to be? Are you looking for incriminating evidence?"
"The Sergeant, sir," said Simmons woodenly, "wishes to know whether the master's hats are kept under lock and key."
"What funny things policemen are interested in," remarked Neville. "Are they, Simmons?"
"No, sir - as I informed the Sergeant."
"I don't immediately see why, but I daresay you have put a rope round my neck," said Neville. "Do go away, Simmons! I'll take care of the Sergeant. I like him."
The Sergeant felt quite uncomfortable. He did not demur at being left with his persecutor, but said defensively: "Soft soap's no good to me, sir."
"Oh, I wouldn't dare! Malachi told me what happens to flatterers. I do wish you had been here yesterday. I found such a good bit in Isaiah, all about Malachi."
"What was that?" asked the Sergeant, diverted in spite of himself.