“Comp’ny!” said Bobbie. “So much the better.”
He pushed the door and entered. Two women in a corner, examining the contents of a crippled chest of drawers by the aid of a candle, looked affrightedly over their shoulders.
“Ullo!” said Bobbie. “What’s your little game?”
“You give us quite a turn, Bobbie,” said Mrs. Rastin nervously, “coming in so quiet. Where ’ave you bin all this time, deer?”
“Where’s the old gel?” asked Bobbie, taking his parcels from his pocket. “Where’s she got to?”
“’Eaven,” said Mrs. Rastin’s friend, trying to close the drawer.
“Don’t try to be funny,” advised the boy, “you can’t do it well, and you’d better be ’alf leave it alone. How long ’fore she’ll be in?”
“You ’aven’t ’eard, deer,” said Mrs. Rastin, coming forward and taking the flask from him absently. “Your poor mother’s bin run over and we’ve jest bin ’olding her inquest.”
Bobbie Lancaster sat down on the wooden chair and blinked stupidly at the two women.
“And was that—was that my old gel that you give evidence about jest now up at the—”