“Then you’ll probably have to unadopt him,” said the detective. “If he’s got no relatives the State will take him in hand.”
“Who’s she?” asked Bobbie, detaching his interest from the back room.
“The State’s got a pretty decent-sized family as it is,” went on the man, “and one extra won’t make much difference.” His two colleagues came downstairs. “Anybody?” he asked. The two men replied not a soul.
“Then one of ’em’s nipped off,” said the detective. “Go and tell the sergeant.”
The door re-opened as the men proceeded to obey. Between two of Mr. Thorpe’s assistants came the demented man, his terrible face down; Bobbie was pulled back to allow them to conduct him through the passage. Finding himself going at a regular pace, he commenced to sing huskily a Moody and Sankey hymn with a marching rhythm.
“Hold the gospel banner high,
On to victory grand,
Satan and his hosts defy,
And shout for Danyul’s band.”
“Bring the woman and the boy,” ordered Mr. Thorpe. “And keep close round them. There’s an awkward crowd outside.”
The awkward crowd of Ely Place was not apparently ready to carry its awkwardness to the point of interference with the police. On the contrary, the crowd seemed anxious to show some friendliness towards the plain clothes men, saying, Good evening, Mr. Thorpe, sir; more work for you, I see. And how are you, Mr. Baker? and how’s that cold of yours getting on, I wonder? Some of the men of Mr. Thorpe’s regiment remained in charge of the house; the others assisted in conducting the three arrested people to the police station.
“Hullo, young man,” said Myddleton West, at the entrance. The crowd in Kingsland Road had swelled to the number of hundreds, and West had to wait for their departure. “You in this affair?”
“Looks like it,” said Bobbie.