“Very interestin’. You ought to frame it.”
I pointed him out to the detective. He recalled him as the gentleman who had blocked the exit gate at the railroad-station. I suggested that that was probably because he had lost his ticket.
“Lost his ticket! A King’s messenger!” The detective was indignant with me. “Impossible, sir!”
I told him the story of the drunken bandsman returning from the picnic. “You can’t have lost your ticket,” said the guard.
“Can’t I?” exclaimed the bandsman triumphantly. “I’ve lost the bass-drum!”
Scotland Yard reproved the K. M. with deference, but severely.
“You should have told us at once, sir,” he said, “that you were carrying despatches. If you’d only shown your credentials, we’d had you safe on board two hours ago.”
The King’s messenger blushed guiltily. He looked as though he wanted to run.
“Don’t tell me,” I cried, “you’ve lost your credentials, too!”