"It doesn't matter. Young to middle-aged. Grey-beards are too theatrical. Don't overdo anything. Respectable enough to travel on a bus if need be."
"Very good, sir," said Mullins, as though his instructions had been to post a letter.
When Grant stumbled across him in the alley in Lowndes Street an hour later, he said, "You're a wonder, Mullins — simply a wonder. I should never believe you had ever written a report in your life if I didn't know first hand." He looked appreciatively at the Pedlar before him. It was incredible that that slightly drooping figure was one of the most promising men at the Yard. It is very seldom that the C.I.D. resort to disguise, but when they do they do it well. Mullins had the supreme touch that faculty of looking as though he could not possibly be other than he was at the moment. His clothes, even, though obviously third hand, had not that uneasy fit that newly donned garments have. They lay to his shoulders as a much-worn garment does, however ill-fitting.
"Like a trinket, sir?" said Mullins, the pedlar, opening the lid of his wicker tray. On the baize lining lay a collection of articles mostly of cheap Italian manufacture — paper-knives, painted wood ornaments of all sorts, useful and useless, papier-mвché bowls, stucco figures.
"Good!" said Grant. He took from his pocket a thin thing wrapped in tissue paper. As he unrolled the paper he said, "I want you to go to 98 Brightling Crescent, off the Fulham Road, and find out if the woman who lives there has ever seen this before." He laid a silver dagger with an enamelled handle down among the painted wood and the stucco. "Needless to say, it isn't for sale. What's the price of this?" he added, picking up an article.
"Give that to a gentleman like you for one-and-ninepence," said Mullins, without hesitation.
As the passer-by went beyond hearing, Grant continued cheerfully as if there had been no parenthesis. "When you've disposed of the woman in Brightling Crescent — and keep your eyes open generally — go to 54 Lemonora Road and see if any one there recognizes it. Report as soon as you have finished."
When the pedlar of Italian goods reached the back door of 54 Lemonora Road about teatime, a pretty but sapless maid said, "Goodness, here's another!"
"Another wot?" said the pedlar.
"Another man selling things."