Now somewhere I had read that the police bullied suspected persons in this way. If you make a guilty person believe that you know him to be guilty, you can also get him to confess if you startle him sufficiently. It occurred to me that this was what these men were doing, especially as they had not been sure of me when I came into the room.
I had some twenty or thirty seconds in which to think of an answer, for the three men spoke one after the other, without giving me a chance to speak. I shook my head, putting on a puzzled look.
"I beg your pardon, sir," I said, speaking rather roughly, in the accent which Bill had used. "I think there's some mistake."
"Oh, I think not," said the officer. "Suppose I tell you how many men were in the lugger?"
But here we were stopped by the arrival of a chaise outside. A man entered hurriedly.
"It's all right, Gray," the newcomer called to the officer. "We have the boy. We caught him back there, along the road, with a couple of gipsies. There can be no doubt about it. The clothes and bundle are just as they're described in the advertisement. Who have you here?"
"Oh, a boy we brought in on suspicion," said the officer. "Shall we let him go?"
"Well, who is he?" asked the new arrival. "Eh, boy? Who are you?"
"A poor boy," I answered.
"How do you make a living?" he asked. "Little boys, like you, oughtn't to be about on the roads, you know. What d'ye do for a living?"