"That chap is no good," announced Elkin. "I'll back old Robinson against
him any day."
"Sh-s-sh! He may 'ear you," muttered the landlord.
"Don't care if he does. Cornhill! What the blazes has Cornhill to do
with the murder at The Hollies?"
Ingerman appreciated the value of that concluding phrase. Elkin had used
it once before in Siddle's shop, and was quietly reproved by the chemist
for his outspokenness.
Ingerman, however, did not inform the company that his office lay in an
alley off Cornhill. He elected to rub in Elkin's words.
"Mr. Siddle seemed to object to The Hollies being mentioned as the scene
of the crime," he said. "I wonder why?"
"Because he's an old molly-coddle," snapped the horse-dealer. "Thinks
everyone is like himself, a regular slow-coach."
Tomlin closed the door into the passage, closed it for the first time in
living memory, whereat Furneaux, on the landing above, grinned
sardonically, and ran downstairs.
"Wot's this about them amatoor clo'es?" he inquired portentously. "Oo 'as
the key of that box?"
"_I_ have," said Elkin. "I locked it after the last performance, and,
unless you've been up to any monkey tricks, Tomlin, the duds are
there yet.
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