“It’s about a girl who was stolen from home last night by a bunch of thugs,” said Nick, steadily eying him. “I have reason to believe they came in this direction.”
“Suppose they did?” questioned Ardley. “What’s that to me? Why d’ye question me?”
“I hoped you might have seen them.”
“Waal, you’ve got another hope.
“Or know something about them,” Nick added.
“What I know about them, Mr. Hudson, or about anything else bar the making of rubber pipes, could be written on your thumb nail,” Ardley growled, still gazing at his hearer. “I dunno anything about any thugs, much less a stolen gal.”
“Don’t you know a man named Pierre Toulon?” Nick asked, with sharper scrutiny.
“Never heard of him.”
“Or David Margate?”
“Same of him. I never heard the name.”