‘Who is this man?’
The ‘pleesman’ put his hands behind his back, and threw out his chest. His manner was distinctly affable.
‘Well,—he’s being detained upon suspicion. He’s given us an address at which to make inquiries, and inquiries are being made. I shouldn’t pay too much attention to what he says if I were you. I don’t suppose he’d be particular about a lie or two.’
This frank expression of opinion re-aroused the indignation of the gentleman on the form.
‘There you hare! at it again! That’s just like you peelers,—you’re all the same! What do you know about me?—Nuffink! This gen’leman ain’t got no call to believe me, not as I knows on,—it’s all the same to me if ’e do or don’t, but it’s trewth what I’m sayin’, all the same.’
At this point the Inspector re-appeared at the pigeon-hole. He cut short the flow of eloquence.
‘Now then, not so much noise outside there!’ He addressed me. ‘None of our men have seen anything of the person you’re inquiring for, so far as we’re aware. But, if you like, I will place a man at your disposal, and he will go round with you, and you will be able to make your own inquiries.’
A capless, wildly excited young ragamuffin came dashing in at the street door. He gasped out, as clearly as he could for the speed which he had made:
‘There’s been murder done, Mr Pleesman,—a Harab’s killed a bloke.’
‘Mr Pleesman’ gripped him by the shoulder.