The Club of Queer Trades
these things he was a country-bred man and gentleman, and had showed courage and a sporting instinct in the hour of desperation. He had told his story with many quaint formalities of diction, but also with a very convincing realism.
"And now—" I began.
"And now," said Shorter, leaning forward again with something like servile energy—"and now, Mr. Swinburne, what about that unhappy man Hawker? I cannot tell what those men meant, or how far what they said was real. But surely there is danger. I cannot go to the police, for reasons that you perceive. Among other things, they wouldn't believe me. What is to be done?"
I took out my watch. It was already half-past twelve.
"My friend Basil Grant," I said, "is the best man we can go to. He and I were to have gone to the same dinner to-night; but he will just have come back by now. Have you any objection to taking a cab?"
"Not at all," he replied, rising politely and gathering up his absurd plaid shawl.
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