Lady Knob-Kerrick looked uncertainly from Bindle to Wilton, then to Miss Strint, and then back again to Bindle.
"You were with the ruffians who have taken my daughter," she said.
"Well, mum, that's where you're sort o' wrong. I've collected white mice and rabbits and once I had a special sort of jumpin' fleas, but I never collected daughters. Besides, there's Mrs. Bindle. She's a bit funny when it comes to another woman. What she'll say when she gets to know that yer've had me 'eld 'ere, a-givin' of me the glad eye through them two 'oles on a stick—I tell yer, mum, I jest daren't think."
"How dare you, you vulgar fellow!" Lady Knob-Kerrick had seen the ghost of a smile flit across Thomas's face. "Hold your tongue!"
"I can't, mum. Lived too long wi' Mrs. B. I'm sort o' surprised at you 'oldin' me 'ere like this. It's like kissin' a girl against her will."
At this juncture there was a loud ringing at the outer bell.
"Go!" said Lady Knob-Kerrick, addressing Thomas.
"Now then, 'op it, Calves," added Bindle, as he resumed his armlet.
A minute later an inspector of police entered. He bowed to Lady Knob-Kerrick and looked towards Bindle, who saluted with a suddenness
