“Well, Miss, I think we shall be able to oblige you by and by,” returned the officer, twiddling his bushy whiskers with self-satisfaction; “I came to tell you——”
“Yes! yes!”
“That we had just had news up by telegraph from one of our men down in the North, that she was seen yesterday in company with a queer-kind of a foreign gentleman—the same party, from all as I can learn, as ran away with her—that is to say, if the description we’ve got is correct. It says here,”—and he drew from his pocket a paper, which he began reading,—’female—small and elegant figure.’”
“Yes, sir; yes, sir!” interrupted the anxious Elcy. “She was an Italian, sir; and one of the most perfect animals ever seen, sir.”
“Well, my instructions don’t say nothing, Miss, about her being of Italian extraction; but if she came from that there country, it’s quite sufficient to account for her being what you says, Miss. But my adwices runs merely—’female—small and elegant figure,’” continued the officer, reading.
“Wheyte reet,” interrupted Cursty.
“Rayther fresh colour,” added the Detective.
“Yes, sir, we used to call her foxy—and she had one of the most beautiful coats of her own you ever saw.”
“No, there ain’t a word here about her having any kind of a coat. But I know, Miss; you means one of them there kind of hairy coats we sees the females in Regent Street in, now-a-days.”
“And what was very remarkable about her, sir,” continued Elcy, intent upon the perfections of her lost pet, “was her nose—it was a beauty, I do assure you—so long and sharp, and then always so nice and cold, even in the height of summer.”