“And so they are marked; all of them. The pill-box I saw there——”
“I mean the stock o’ boxes you’ve got at home. Be they all marked?”
“Every one of them. When I have in a fresh lot of pill-boxes the first thing I do, on bringing them home, is to mark them.”
“Then look here. You just trust me with the key of your place, and tell me where the boxes are to be found, and I’ll go and secure ’em, and lay ’em afore the coroner. If they be all found marked, it’ll tell in your favour.”
The advice sounded good, and Abel Crew handed over his key. Jones looked solemn as he and I went away together.
“It’s an odd thing, though, Master Johnny, ain’t it, how the pison could ha’ got into them there pills,” said he slowly, as he put the big key into the lock of the outer door.
And we had an audience round us before the words were well spoken. To see the lock-up made fast when there was a prisoner within it, was always a coveted recreation in Piefinch Cut. Several individuals had come running up; not to speak of children from the gutters. Dovey stood gazing in front of his forge; Figg, who liked to be lounging about outside when he had no customers transacting delicate negotiations within, backed against his shop-window, and stared in concert with Dovey. Jones flourishing the formidable keys, crossed over to them.
“How do he feel to-day?” asked Figg, nodding towards the lock-up.
“He don’t feel no worse appariently than he do other days,” replied old Jones. “It be a regular odd thing, it be.”
“What be odd?” asked Dovey.