"Height years for burglary—if they can 'old me," and Bill Dobbs chuckled knowingly, like one who had tested the fragility of prison walls before. "W'ich, bein' a slippery fish, is a question Hi 'ave been considerin' seriously."
"Why did you leave England?" asked Robert.
"The climate is gettin' so warm," answered the cockney. "W'y, the gulf stream is comin' so near us there it would almost boil a turkey. Hawfully bloomin' 'ot, you know, chummy. I'm a-winkin' at you."
"Especially about Scotland Yard, I suppose. You're a professional burglar?"
"Not always, young man. Hi 'ad a Henglish mother once, w'ich I shall never forget 'ow she 'eard my prayers. And hevery day Hi dressed myself up in my blue blouse and breeches, and my dinner pail (w'ich wasn't hempty) under my harm, and hevery bloomin' bobby I met says Hi to him, says Hi: 'Hi'm Martin Thimblethorpe, from the west country, and can you tell me w'ere's Regent row?' Blarst me if they wouldn't point their fingers this way and that way and follow my departing footsteps with a look of pride, as much as to say: 'There goes a honest Hinglish workingman; see 'is hindependent hair."
"But you never worked very hard, I fancy, with your blouse and your dinner-pail?"
"'Ard? Hi fancy Hi did."
"What did you do?"
"Jeweler's 'elp."
"That is, you sold your plunder to a fence?"