"He was there," said Jimmy, "in that ridiculous Green Overcoat of his, and he pulled the cheque book out of his pocket. At least, it was in his pocket," corrected Jimmy, with a careful fear of tripping up over a verbal inaccuracy where the law was concerned. "He tried to get out of it, but we wouldn't have it, Mr. Kirby, and so—and so he paid."
"You are perfectly certain it was Mr. Brassington?" said Mr. Kirby.
"No manner of doubt in the world," said Jimmy calmly. "We got him to come with us as he left the party, and we put it before him; and as I tell you, he did hestitate, but he paid at last, and it was a just debt. I may as well tell you, Mr. Kirby, it was his son's debt. We had lost more than that to our friend in the past, and we paid honourably, and we weren't going to be welched."
"After all, Mr. McAuley," said Mr. Kirby, after a little thought, "I have asked you if you are sure it was Mr. Brassington, and the thing is important. Was he a tall, rather lanky man, with a nervous way with him and loosely dressed? Did he thrust his hands into his pockets? Did he try to talk about Philosophy or his being a Philosopher, or
