“Ay, and a shilling. And,” smiling broadly, “he’d have given me something else if I’d let him.”
“A kiss, I bet!” said Bishop.
“Ay, it was. But I said that’d be another shilling.”
Clyne groaned.
“For God’s sake,” he said, “come to the point. Time’s everything.”
Bishop shrugged his shoulders.
“Where did you see him, my girl?” he asked.
“By the gate of the coppice as I was bringing the milk,” she answered frankly. “‘I’m her Joe,’ he said. ‘And if you’ll hand her this and keep mum, here’s a shilling for you.’ And——”
“Very good,” said Bishop. “And what was he like?”
With much cunning she described Walterson, and Bishop acknowledged the likeness. “It’s our man!” he said, slapping his boot with his loaded whip. “And now, my dear, which way did he go?”