Mason wobbled his head and craned his neck awkwardly.
"Oo gev me that crack on the nut?" he asked.
"The roof dropped," was the jocular reply.
"Not it. I 'ad yer dahn, Sailor. I was on yer afore ye could use yer stick. Ye was fairly bested until somebody ahted me wiv a welt on the skylight."
"Never mind, Jocky. It'll hurt you to think just now. Come on."
But the ex-convict became sensible of the unwonted light in the deserted house, and slowly turned his head until his glance rested on Philip.
"Why!" he roared, with an imprecation, "that's the bloomin' kid 'oo found the di-monds. I seed 'im a-countin' of 'em. White stones, the paper said, an' bits of iron, too. A trunk full of 'em. 'E 'as one in 'is pocket as big as an egg."
The policeman laughed. So did Philip, shrilly, with ready acceptance of the cue.
"Come along, Jocky, you're wool-gathering. I'll get you a pint of coffee at the station just to show there's no malice," said the constable.
"The water was too strong for him," put in Philip.