"Oh," began Mrs. Randle, "Lord knows, he gave a cry that loud on seeing me" but the policeman did not want to hear this.
He put this third question—
"About what time might this be?"
"About," said the Professor, speaking slowly but thinking at his fastest, "about … about three hours ago. It was still dark. It was getting light. I remember going through the streets, getting a little clearer from time to time as to what I was doing and where I was."
The manœuvre was not without wisdom. Had he made the time shorter there would have been inquiries, and they might have lit upon the three men in the shelter, and that detestable Green Overcoat might have come in once more to ruin his life. As it was, whoever the middle-aged person in battered evening clothes may have been who had entered the shelter on that morning, it could not be he. The policeman strapped the elastic over his note-book again.
"That 'll do, sir," he said kindly.
Mrs. Randle was swift to find a couple of glasses of beer, which beverage the uncertain hours of their profession permit the constabulary to consume at any period whatsoever
