Part 19 (2/2)
There's men to handle ye now, and the coppers'll soon be here. Will ye take charge of him, Mr. Pettigrew?”
”No, no! Please, Mrs. Flynn!” protests Waldo. ”You are doing excellently. Don't let him up just yet.”
”O-o-o-o!” moans the flattened gent. ”My poor back!”
”If you could ease up a bit, so we might get a look at him,” I suggests. ”We want to see if he's really a burglar.”
”He's that, all right,” says Mrs. Flynn. ”Didn't I catch him red-handed prowlin' about? But if ye want to see what his ugly mug looks like, ye may. There! Sit ye up and face the gintlemen!”
She's a s.h.i.+fty party with her hands and feet, for with a couple of body twists Mrs. Flynn is on her knees behind him with his arms pinned to the small of his back.
”There, thief of the wor-ruld!” says she. ”Tell 'em whatever you came to steal.”
”Go on,” says I. ”Mind the lady.”
”I--I'm no thief; really, gentlemen,” says he. ”You can see that, I trust.”
”Sure!” says I. ”Just mistook the bas.e.m.e.nt for the drawin'-room, didn't you? And you was about to leave cards on the fam'ly. What name did you say?”
”I--I'd rather not give my name,” says he, hangin' his head.
”It's being done in the best circles,” says I. ”These calls incog. are gettin' to be bad form. Isn't that right, Mr. Pettigrew?”
”If he is a gas man or a plumber,” says Waldo, ”why doesn't he say so at once?”
”There's your cue,” says I. ”Now come across with the alibi.”
”I--I can't explain just how I happen to be here,” says the gent, ”but--but there are those who can.”
”Eh?” says I. ”Oh-ho!”
It was only a quick glance he shot over, but I caught who it was aimed at. Also, I noticed the effect. And just like that I had a swift hunch how all this ground-floor mix-up might be worked in useful.
”Mr. Pettigrew,” says I, ”suppose I could Sherlock Holmes this laundry mystery without callin' in the cops?”
”Oh, I should be so grateful!” says T. Waldo.
”That ain't the answer,” says I. ”Would it make you feel different about sellin' that land?”
”Oh, I say, you know!” protests T. Waldo, startin' to stiffen up.
For a two-by-four he lugs around a lot of cranky whims, and it looked like this was one of his pets. There's quite a mulish streak in him, too.
”All right,” says I, startin' towards the bas.e.m.e.nt stairs. ”Settle it your own way.”
”But, really, I--I don't know what to do,” says Waldo. ”I--I'm all upset. Of course, if you insist on the land--”
”That's talkin'!” says I. ”My guess is that it won't take long.
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