“I remember the man!” I broke in. “Mr. Bruff and I thought he was a spy employed by the Indians.”
Sergeant Cuff did not appear to be much impressed by what Mr. Bruff and I had thought. He went on catechising Gooseberry.
“Well?” he said—“and why did you follow the sailor?”
“If you please, sir, Mr. Bruff wanted to know whether Mr. Luker passed anything to anybody on his way out of the bank. I saw Mr. Luker pass something to the sailor with the black beard.”
“Why didn’t you tell Mr. Bruff what you saw?”
“I hadn’t time to tell anybody, sir, the sailor went out in such a hurry.”
“And you ran out after him—eh?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Gooseberry,” said the Sergeant, patting his head, “you have got something in that small skull of yours—and it isn’t cotton-wool. I am greatly pleased with you, so far.”
The boy blushed with pleasure. Sergeant Cuff went on.