“What’s your mistress’s name?”
“Mrs. Graham.”
“And who are the people who live upstairs?”
“They’re the Johnsons. Mr. Johnson is on the turf, they say. ’E goes to race-meetin’s in a white hat and a bag slung over his shoulder.”
“But where does Mr. Purvis live?”
“I don’t know, sir. He comes sometimes to see Mrs. Graham.”
“Does he receive many letters?”
“Oh, two or three a week, perhaps.”
“Well,” I said, “if you want to earn a sovereign you can do so very easily. Find out for me where Mr. Purvis lives, and I’ll give you a sovereign.”
The girl, although of true Cockney type, dirty and slatternly, was nevertheless intelligent.