“You’re about very early,” said a voice, the owner of which Easton could not see. The light blinded him.
“What time is it?” said Easton. “I’ve got to get to work at seven and our clock stopped during the night.”
“Where are you working?”
“At ‘The Cave’ in Elmore Road. You know, near the old toll gate.”
“What are you doing there and who are you working for?” the policeman demanded.
Easton explained.
“Well,” said the constable, “it’s very strange that you should be wandering about at this hour. It’s only about three-quarters of an hour’s walk from here to Elmore Road. You say you’ve got to get there at seven, and it’s only a quarter to four now. Where do you live? What’s your name?” Easton gave his name and address and began repeating the story about the clock having stopped.
“What you say may be all right or it may not,” interrupted the policeman. “I’m not sure but that I ought to take you to the station. All I know about you is that I find you loitering outside this shop. What have you got in that basket?”
“Only my breakfast,” Easton said, opening the basket and displaying its contents.
“I’m inclined to believe what you say,” said the policeman, after a pause. “But to make quite sure I’ll go home with you. It’s on my beat, and I don’t want to run you in if you’re what you say you are, but I should advise you to buy a decent clock, or you’ll be getting yourself into trouble.”