"Yes, ma'am."
"Then," said Mrs. Waddington, twitching the ten-dollar bill neatly from his grasp, "It may interest you to know that I do not believe you."
"Here, hey!" cried Mullett, deeply moved. "You gave me that!"
"And I have taken it back," said Mrs. Waddington, replacing the bill in her bag. "You do not deserve it."
Mullett slammed the window, outraged in his finest feelings. For some moments he stood, fermenting. Then, seething with justifiable indignation, he switched off the light once more and went out.
He had reached the foot of the stairs, when he heard his name spoken, and, turning, was aware of a long policeman regarding him with a mild friendliness.
"Surely it is Mr. Mullett?" said the policeman.
"Hullo?" said Mullett, somewhat embarrassed. Habit is not easily overcome, and there had been a time when the mere sight of a policeman had made him tremble like a leaf.
"You remember me? My name is Garroway. We met some weeks ago."
"Why, sure," said Mullett, relieved. "You're the poet."