“Oh, he’s sharp. I met a man in the train and he told me—”
Mr. Franklin grinned amiably; Hobbs, the butcher, intercepting his eye, grinned back. It is not difficult to imagine what portion of the foregoing small talk reached Furneaux subsequently.
Oddly enough, both detectives had missed a brief but illuminating incident which took place in the Hare and Hounds the previous night, while Winter was finishing a cigar with Peters, and Furneaux was bludgeoning Ingerman into compliance with his wishes.
Elkin’s remarkable improvement in health was commented on by Hobbs, and Siddle took the credit.
“That last mixture has proved beneficial, then?” he said, eying the horse-dealer closely.
“Top-hole,” smirked Elkin. “But it’s only fair to say that I’ve chucked whiskey, too.”
“Did you finish the bottle?”
“Which bottle?”
“Mine, of course.”
“Nearly.”