“Well? Well?” asked the Inspector, without looking up from his reports.
“I beg your pardon—but is this—?” asked a timid voice in return.
“Ah, a lady,” exclaimed the Inspector on seeing her. “Beg pardon, ma’am. Have a seat, ma’am. And now what can I do for you?”
“Is this where they report things?” asked the girl apologetically.
“Bless us all,” cried out Sharpe, with a smile; “they report some things here, miss. Who are you, now?”
“Does it matter? Must I say who I am?” inquired the lady anxiously.
“Really, you know, I can’t say as to that, you know, miss,” replied the Inspector, with a merriment which he frowned at when the constable began to join in it. “If you have something to report, I must know who it is as reports it, wouldn’t you say? But there, now, miss, don’t you be afraid of nothing. Out with it. What seems to be a-troublin’ of such a quiet-looking young person as you, miss?”
“Well,” answered the girl, much encouraged by the humanity of the terrible officer whose uniform and surroundings appalled her at first, “I just wanted to report that he did go out and I followed him, but he walked so fast that I couldn’t keep up with him, and he disappeared around the corner, please, sir.”
“He did, eh?” laughed the Inspector. “You wouldn’t have no objection to mentionin’ the gent’s name, now, would you? Must have somebody’s name.”