"
"Well, sir, meals are a trifle irregular during a busy time like this,"
admitted Robinson, feeling that his luck was in, because tongues would
surely be loosened in the kitchen to an official guest introduced by the
master of the establishment. He was right. No member of the Bates family
dreamed of reticence, now that the household was restored to favor with
"the force." Before Robinson departed, he was full of information and
good food.
What more natural, then, an hour later, than that he should contrive to
meet Elkin as the horse-dealer was taking home a lively two-year-old pony
he had been "lungeing" on a strip of common opposite his house?
Each was eager to question the other, but Elkin opened fire.
"Anything fresh?" he cried. "You have a fair course now, Robinson. That
little London 'tec has bunked home."
"Has he?" In the language of the ring, Robinson thought fit to spar for
an opening.
"Oh, none of your kiddin'," said Elkin, stroking the nervous colt's neck.
"You know he has. You don't miss much that's going on. Bet you half a
thick 'un you'd have put someone in clink before this if the murder at
The Hollies had been left in your hands.
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