“Yes, it’s mine,” he said with an oath at me, which, being quite undeserved, need not be put down. “What do you want with it? It’s good enough, isn’t it?”
“I believe so. Where did you get it?”
“What’s that to you?” was the bullying reply.
I folded up the note and put it into my pocket, and then produced my handcuffs.
“Everything in the world,” I replied. “You must either answer that to me or put on these before answering it to the Fiscal.”
Slightly disconcerted, but still defiant, he thought for a moment, and then said—
“Well, I got it from a gentleman—a friend of mine I was a-calling on this morning.”
“His name?”
“Mr Bannister,” he sullenly responded, after another pause.
“I believe you!” I returned with marked scepticism. “You had better say no more, for you’ll have to go with me.”