“Well, I don’t rightly understand about the clue myself. All I knows is it’s got something to do with a public-house, ‘The Hammer and Tongs,’ which isn’t far off there. They feels sure The Avenger was in the bar just on closing-time.”
And then Mrs. Bunting sat down. She felt better now. It was natural the police should suspect a public-house loafer. “Then that’s why you wasn’t able to go and fetch Daisy, I suppose?”
He nodded. “Mum’s the word, Mrs. Bunting! It’ll all be in the last editions of the evening newspapers—it can’t be kep’ out. There’d be too much of a row if ’twas!”
“Are you going off to that public-house now?” she asked.
“Yes, I am. I’ve got a awk’ard job—to try and worm something out of the barmaid.”
“Something out of the barmaid?” repeated Mrs. Bunting nervously. “Why, whatever for?”
He came and stood close to her. “They think ’twas a gentleman,” he whispered.
“A gentleman?”
Mrs. Bunting stared at Chandler with a scared expression. “Whatever makes them think such a silly thing as that?”
“Well, just before closing-time a very peculiar-looking gent, with a leather bag in his hand, went into the bar and asked for a glass of milk. And what d’you think he did? Paid for it with a sovereign! He wouldn’t take no change—just made the girl a present of it! That’s why the young woman what served him seems quite unwilling to give him away. She won’t tell now what he was like. She doesn’t know what he’s wanted for, and we don’t want her to know just yet. That’s one reason why nothing’s being said public about it. But there! I really must be going now. My time’ll be up at three o’clock. I thought of coming in on the way back, and asking you for a cup o’ tea, Mrs. Bunting.”