"Do you see 'em, Mr.
Perkwite? The young un's Miss Wickham, who came to our office about
this Ashton affair. I don't know who the old un is--but she evidently
knows her way."
The berry-faced landlord had now shut down the hatch, and his two
bar-parlour customers were alone and unobserved. Perkwite drew away from
the window, pulling Millwaters by the sleeve.
"Careful!" he said. "There's something seriously wrong here, Millwaters!
What's Miss Wickham being brought down here for? See, they've gone into
that surgery, and the car's going off. Look here--we've got to do
something, and at once!"
But Millwaters shook his head.
"Not my job, Mr. Perkwite!" he answered. "My business is with the
man--Cave! I've nothing to do with Miss Wickham, sir, nor with the old
lady that's taken her in there. Cave's my mark! Queer that the young
lady's gone there, no doubt, but--no affair of mine."
"It's going to be an affair of mine, then," said Perkwite. "I'm going off
to the police!"
Millwaters put out a detaining hand.
"Don't, Mr. Perkwite!" he said. "To get police into a quarter like this
is as bad as putting a light to dry straw.
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