“Him not having written, no, Sir,” and she edged a step towards the left with an imperfect idea of cutting off Redwood from the barn door.
“No one knows what has become of him,” said Redwood.
“I dessay ‘e knows,” said Mrs. Skinner.
“He doesn’t tell.”
“He was always a great one for looking after ‘imself and leaving them that was near and dear to ‘im in trouble, was Skinner. Though clever as could be,” said Mrs. Skinner....
“Where’s this child?” asked Redwood abruptly.
She begged his pardon.
“This child I hear about, the child you’ve been giving our stuff to—the child that weighs two stone.”
Mrs. Skinner’s hands worked, and she dropped the onions. “Reely, Sir,” she protested, “I don’t hardly know, Sir, what you mean. My daughter, Sir, Mrs. Caddles, ‘as a baby, Sir.” And she made an agitated curtsey and tried to look innocently inquiring by tilting her nose to one side.
“You’d better let me see that baby, Mrs. Skinner,” said Redwood.