"Well, it's no use crying over spilt milk," ses the policeman. "Funny smell about 'ere, ain't there?" he ses, sniffing, and turning to the landlord. "Wot is it?"
"I dunno," ses the landlord. "I noticed it while we was talking to 'im at the gate. It seems to foller 'im about."
"I've smelt things I like better," ses the policeman, sniffing agin. "It's just like the foreshore when somebody 'as been stirring the mud up a bit."
"Unless it's a case of 'tempted suicide," he ses, looking at me very 'ard.
"Ah!" ses the landlord.
"There's no mud on 'is clothes," ses the policeman, looking me over with his lantern agin.
"He must 'ave gone in naked, but I should like to see 'is legs to make— All right! All right! Keep your 'air on."
"You look arter your own legs, then," I ses, very sharp, "and mind your own business."
"It is my business," he ses, turning to the landlord. "Was 'e strange in his manner at all when 'e was in your place to-night?"
"He smashed one o' my best glasses," ses the landlord.