“Doesn’t help much now,” said the Inspector. “Still it’s all in order. We took him, in the exercise of our discretion, to the Workhouse Infirmary—for observation as to his mental state. Three clear days they keep them there. Then they’re either certified or let go. Or charged.”
“Certified?” asked Bobby.
“As a lunatic,” said Inspector Mullins.
“And what happened to him?”
“Usual thing, I suppose. He was a pretty clear case. By this time he’s a certified lunatic, I suppose, and either at Cummerdown Hill or on his way there. Or if that’s full—somewhere else.”
“Phew!” said Bobby. “Pretty quick.”
He sat disconcerted. “Can I go and see him at Cummerdown Hill?” he asked.
“Probably not,” said Inspector Mullins. “Seeing you’re not a relation.”
“I’m interested in him.”
“It isn’t your business.”