"Good heavens!" said the horrified Giveen. "Was he burnt?"
"Was who burnt?"
"The chap with the petrol on him."
"Burnt! Why, they gathered up his ashes in a bucket. Didn't you read about it in the papers?"
"No," said Mr. Giveen. "I didn't."
They passed down the Strand. The night was clear and warm for the time of the year, a fortunate circumstance for Mr. Giveen, as he had no overcoat. They passed up Fleet Street, by St. Paul's, and down Bishopsgate Street.
"Is it anywhere near here?" asked Giveen as they passed Whitechapel Church and turned into the old coaching road to Ilford.
"Is what near here?" asked Bobby.
"The place we're going to."
"Oh, it's about sixty or eighty miles."