"Can you tell me under what circumstances you relinquished possession of the volume in question?"
This was the point where truth must begin to be tempered. Bill set his intuitive faculty busily to work.
"Is that Latin for when did I lose it?" he asked, more with the idea of gaining time than of procuring information or even of insulting the policeman.
"None o' that," said the Arm of the Law majestically. "Answer the question. When did you see the book last?"
The owner of the notebook, who had so far merely been ticking off the various items of Bill's description as the correctness of each was established, realized that the heavy part of his task was now just about to begin. He devoted himself to suction of his pencil-point with such assiduity that he began to look as though he had regaled himself heavily with black cherries.
Bill, his mind still working at lightning speed, gazed at the amanuensis in apparent fascination. His object was to invent a method of disposing of the book which while being credible should not admit of corroboration. Supposing he said he had lost it at Folkestone on his way home?... But that might raise the question of the date of his return to England, and he did not want his mother to know that he had been home for some time before coming to her. He might manage to put the police off, but once his mother had got hold of a suspicious fact, there was no balking her.
"Come on," said the police sergeant impatiently. "What's the matter with you?"
"I was just waitin' till the Town Clerk 'ere was ready," he explained with his native impudence. "When did I last see the book? I don't know as I can remember the exact day."