“Give it a name, then,” said the boy sulkily.
“‘Dreamt I dwelt in marble ’alls,’” suggested the constable.
Bobbie played this, and the constable, much delighted, not only gave up all idea of the dog-cart and Tonbridge, but asked for another verse.
“What time do you make it?” asked Bobbie, wiping his lips.
He felt hungry; the thought of hot coffee and hot rolls, and broiled ham and eggs, waiting for him at the Duchess’s magnificent hotel, made him anxious. The constable lifted a huge watch from his trousers pocket. “Wants a quarter to six,” he said.
“’Appen to know a place up at Brenchley called ‘The Happy Retreat’?”
“Do I not.”
“Rather fine hotel, isn’t it? One of the most important places of its kind in the district, eh?”
“Of its kind,” said the constable, “yes.”
“Do an extr’ordinary business there, don’t they?”