"So 'e was; we talked about it…."
The fat, scared-eyed man made another attempt.
"She got the key off of me—she 'ad the number of it—she come into my shop of a Tuesday evening…."
Nobody heeded him.
"Shut your heads," a heavy labourer commented gruffly, "she hasn't been found yet. 'Ere's the inspectors; we shall know more in a bit."
Two inspectors had come up and were talking to the constables who guarded the gate. The little fat man ran eagerly forward, saying that she had bought the key of him. "I remember the number, because of it's being three one's and three three's—111333!" he exclaimed excitedly.
An inspector put him aside.
"Nobody's been in?" he asked of one of the constables.
"No, sir."
"Then you, Brackley, come with us; you, Smith, keep the gate. There's a squad on its way."