“What's that?” asked Frere, suddenly interested.
“The bolter I was telling you about—Gabbett, your old friend. He's returned.”
“How long has he been out?”
“Nigh six weeks, sir,” said the constable, touching his cap.
“Gad, he's had a narrow squeak for it, I'll be bound. I should like to see him.”
“He's down at the sheds,” said the ready Troke—“a 'good conduct' burglar. You can see him at once, gentlemen, if you like.”
“What do you say, Vickers?”
“Oh, by all means.”