"I'm afraid I'm getting a bit of a nuisance, Constable," I said. "I shall have to present the Station with a new door-knocker when I get out."
He made no response beyond a non-committal smile, but retiring from the room, returned a minute later with Billy in attendance.
"Well, my son," said the latter, as soon as the door was shut, "been reading your Press notices?"
He waved his hands towards the pile of newspapers.
"I've looked at them, Billy," I said. "For a modest man, I seem to be making a bit of a splash."
Billy laughed grimly. "Oh, you're the real thing. You've got the sea-serpent done to a frazzle. The whole town's talking of you; and as for the newspaper men—well, they've lined up outside Park Lane thicker than fleas in a Spanish doss-house. I had to push 'em away with both hands when I came out just now."
"Tell me about Mercia, Billy," I said.
"She's all right. It takes a lot to upset the Solanos. I told her the whole story before we went to the courthouse, and she never turned a hair. There's stuff in that girl, or else I'm a Dutchman."
"Did she send me any message?" I asked eagerly.
"Said she wasn't exactly tired of you," answered Billy, "or words to that effect; but we were too busy listening to your detective pal to bother much about love letters." He paused and chuckled. "It'll be a knock for Sherlock Holmes when he finds out the facts. He's reckoning that he's got you booked."