"Can you produce the animal?" asked Barcroft.
"Wot! Tike me fer a bloomin' conjurer? D'ye fink as 'ow I can make a bloomin' moke come outer me 'at like a rabbit?"
"In that case I don't think I'll trouble you any further," said Peter, placing his hand on the bell.
"'Old 'ard, guv'ner!" interrupted the man. "You mistakes my meanin.' Wot I says is this, if you'll pardon my manner o' speech. I knows where your donkey is. A chap wot I owes a grudge to 'as pinched it. You pay me the quid, I'll give you the straight tip, s'long as you don't bring my name inter it, an' there you are. You gets yer moke back agen an' it's a jimmy o' goblin well spent."
Peter considered the points raised. He felt disinclined to treat with the rascal. He might have telephoned for the police, but it was hardly a case of blackmail. Quite possibly at the threat of the law the fellow might be cowed; on the other hand he might shut up like an oyster. Again, the whole story might be a cock-and-bull yarn with the idea of getting money.
"Very well," said Barcroft at length. "I agree. Now tell me where the animal is."
"Steady on, guv'ner," protested the man. "'Ow abaht it?—the quid, I means."
"I've promised," said Peter. "My word is your bond."
"Sooner 'ave the brass."
"When I regain possession of the animal," decided the lawful owner firmly. "You give me your name and address and directly I recover my property I will send you the money. You cannot reasonably expect me to trust you, an utter stranger, with a sovereign on the off-chance that I may get the animal back on the strength of your information. In fact, rather than do so, I would let the donkey go. Now, make up your mind quickly. My time is precious."