"Sorry!—I mean, certainly!" said Dicky, getting flustered. (I could see Robin glowering at him.) "We are just going down the street a minute. This—er—girl has brought us a bit of bad news. There's been an accident happened—er——"
"To her puir old mither," put in Robin, whom I began to suspect of rather enjoying this entertainment for its own sake.
This heartrending piece of intelligence touched the crowd, and Coaldust was instantly forward in proposing an informal vote of condolence, which was seconded by a bare-armed lady in a deerstalker cap. But the policeman, evidently roused by our friends' ill-judged and precipitate attempt to strike camp, suddenly produced a pocket-book from his tunic, and said—
"It is my duty to take your names and addresses, together with the name of the firm employing you."
This announcement obviously disconcerted Dicky and Robin; for it is one thing to take part in a masquerade, and another to get out of the consequences thereof by cold-drawn lying.
However, the policeman was sucking his pencil and waiting, so Dicky said—
"You can get all the information you want from the Borough Surveyor."
It was a bold effort, but the policeman merely said—
"Your name, please!"
Dicky, fairly cornered, replied—