Part 24 (2/2)
”That's it, sir. Sir Thomas Blunt's valet, he was. That's how he got into the house, sir.”
Mr. McEachern grunted despairingly.
”The man was right. He is a detective. Sir Thomas brought him down from London. He niver travels without him. Ye've done it. Ye've arristed wan of the bhoys.”
Mr. Galer's jaw dropped slightly.
”He was? He really was----”
”Ye'd better go straight to where it was ye locked him up, and let him loose. And I'd suggest ye hand him an apology. G'wan, mister. Lively as you can step.”
”I never thought----”
”That's the trouble with you fly cops,” said his employer caustically.
”Ye niver do think.”
”It never occurred to me----”
”G'wan!” said the master of the house. ”Up an alley!”
Mr. Galer departed.
”And I asked them,” said Mr. McEachern, ”I asked them particularly not to send me a rube!”
He lit another cigar, and began to brood over the folly of mankind.
He was in a very pessimistic frame of mind when Jimmy curveted into the room, with his head in the clouds and his feet on air.
”Can you spare me a few minutes, Mr. McEachern?” said Jimmy.
The policeman stared heavily.
”I can,” he said slowly. ”What is ut?”
”Several things,” said Jimmy, sitting down. ”I'll take them in order.
I'll start with our bright friend, Galer.”
”Galer!”
”Of New York, according to you. Personally, I should think that he's seen about as much of New York as I have of Timbuctoo. Look here, McEachern, we've known each other some time, and I ask you, as man to man, do you think it playing the game to set a farmer like poor old Galer to watch me? I put it to you?”
The policeman stammered. The question chimed in so exactly with the opinion he had just formed, on his own account, of the human bloodhound who was now in the cellar making the peace with his injured fellow worker.
”Hits you where you live, that, doesn't it?” said Jimmy. ”I wonder you didn't have more self-respect, let alone consideration for my feelings. I'm surprised at you.”
<script>