KEITH. He's in no danger. They always get the wrong man first. It'll do him no harm to be locked up a bit—hyena like that. Better in prison, anyway, than sleeping out under archways in this weather.
LARRY. What was he like, Keith?
KEITH. A little yellow, ragged, lame, unshaven scarecrow of a chap.
They were fools to think he could have had the strength.
LARRY. What! [In an awed voice] Why, I saw him—after I left you last night.
KEITH. You? Where?
LARRY. By the archway.
KEITH. You went back there?
LARRY. It draws you, Keith.
KErra. You're mad, I think.
LARRY. I talked to him, and he said, "Thank you for this little chat. It's worth more than money when you're down." Little grey man like a shaggy animal. And a newspaper boy came up and said: "That's right, guv'nors! 'Ere's where they found the body—very spot. They 'yn't got 'im yet."