“Please, sir, Mr. Arthur Oldham.”
The agent gave a sudden start and a keen glance at the boy, and then smiled to himself; then he meditated, and bit his nails once or twice.
“And when was Mr. Roger taken ill?”
“He slipped down at the door of his lodging and hurt his foot, at dinner-time yesterday; and he could not walk.”
“His lodging? Then he does not sleep in the house?”
“No sir; he sleeps in Stafford Alley, round the corner.”
“And where do you live?”
“Please, sir, I go home to my mother nearly every night; but not always.”
“And where does your mother live?”
“Please, sir, at 4 Bell’s Lane.”