“Mullett,” he said, regarding this relic with a dreamy eye, “take this hat and put it away.”
“Throw it away, sir?”
“Good heavens, no! Put it away—very carefully. Have you any tissue-paper?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then wrap it up very carefully in tissue-paper and leave it on the table in my sitting-room.”
“Very good, sir.”
“Pardon me for interrupting,” said a deprecating voice behind him, “but might I request a moment of your valuable time, Mr. Finch?”
Officer Garroway had left his fixed point, and was standing in an attitude that seemed to suggest embarrassment. His mild eyes wore a somewhat timid expression.
“Forgive me if I intrude,” said officer Garroway.
“Not at all,” said George.
“I am a policeman, sir.”
“So I see.”
“And,” said Officer Garroway sadly, “I have a rather disagreeable duty to perform, I fear. I would avoid it, if I could reconcile the act with my conscience, but duty is duty. One of the drawbacks to the policeman’s life, Mr. Finch, is that it is not easy for him always to do the gentlemanly thing.”
“No doubt,” said George.
Mullett swallowed apprehensively. The hunted look had come back to his face. Officer Garroway eyed him with a gentle solicitude.
“I would like to preface my remarks,” he proceeded, “by saying that I have no personal animus against Mr. Mullett. I have seen nothing in my brief acquaintance with Mr. Mullett that leads me to suppose that he is not a pleasant companion and zealous in the performance of his work. Nevertheless, I think it right that you should know that he is an ex-convict.”
“An ex-convict!”
“Reformed,” said Mullett hastily.
“As to that, I cannot say,” said Officer Garroway. “I can but speak of what I know. Very possibly, as he asserts, Mr. Mullett is a reformed character. But this does not alter the fact that he has done his bit of time: and in pursuance of my duty I can scarcely refrain from mentioning this to the gentleman who is his present employer. The moment I was introduced to him, I detected something oddly familiar about Mr. Mullett’s face, and I have just recollected that I recently saw a photograph of him in the Rogues Gallery at Headquarters. You are possibly aware, sir, that convicted criminals are ‘mugged’—that is to say, photographed in various positions—at the commencement of their term of incarceration. This was done to Mr. Mullett some eighteen months ago when he was sentenced to a year’s imprisonment for an inside burglary job. May I ask how Mr. Mullett came to be in your employment?”
“He was sent to me by Mr. Beamish. Mr. Hamilton Beamish.”
“In that case, sir, I have nothing further to say,” said the policeman, bowing at the honoured name. “No doubt Mr. Beamish had excellent reasons for recommending Mr. Mullett. And, of course, as Mr. Mullett has long since expiated his offence, I need scarcely say that we of the Force have nothing against him. I merely considered it my duty to inform you of his previous activities in case you should have any prejudice against employing a man of his antecedents. I must now leave you, as my duties compel me to return to the station-house. Good afternoon, Mr. Finch.”
“Good afternoon.”
“Good day, Mr. Mullett. Pleased to have met you. You did not by any chance run into a young fellow named Joe the Gorilla while you were in residence at Sing-Sing? No? I’m sorry. He came from my home town. I should have liked news of Joe.”
Officer Garroway’s departure was followed by a lengthy silence. George Finch shuffled his feet awkwardly. He was an amiable young man, and disliked unpleasant scenes. He looked at Mullett. Mullett looked at the sky.
“Er—Mullett,” said George.
“Sir?”
“This is rather unfortunate.”
“Most unpleasant for all concerned, sir.”
“I think Mr. Beamish might have told me.”
“No doubt he considered it unnecessary, sir. Being aware that I had reformed.”
“Yes, but even so. … Er—Mullett.”
“Sir?”
“The officer spoke of an inside burglary job. What was your exact—er—line?”
“I used to get a place as a valet, sir, and wait till I saw my chance, and then skin out with everything I could lay my hands on.”
“You did, did you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, I do think Mr. Beamish might have dropped me a quiet hint. Good heavens! I may have been putting temptation in your way for weeks.”
“You have, sir—very serious temptation. But I welcome temptation, Mr. Finch. Every time I’m left alone with your pearl studs, I have a bout with the Tempter. ‘Why don’t you take them, Mullett?’ he says to me, ‘Why don’t you take them?’ It’s splendid moral exercise, sir.”
“I suppose so.”
“Yes, sir, it’s awful what that Tempter will suggest to me. Sometimes, when you’re lying asleep, he says ‘Slip a sponge of Chloroform under his nose, Mullett, and clear out with the swag!’ Just imagine it, sir.”
“I am imagining it.”
“But I win every time, sir. I’ve not lost one fight with that old Tempter since I’ve been in your employment, Mr. Finch.”
“All the same, I don’t believe you’re going to remain in my employment, Mullett.”
Mullett inclined his head resignedly.
“I was afraid of this, sir. The moment that flat-footed cop came on to this roof, I had a presentiment that there was going to be trouble. But I should appreciate it very much if you could see your way to reconsider, sir. I can assure you that I have completely reformed.”
“Religion?”
“No, sir. Love.”
The word seemed to touch some hidden chord in George Finch. The stern, set look vanished from his face. He gazed at his companion almost meltingly.
“Mullett! Do you love?”
“I do, indeed, sir. Fanny’s her name, sir. Fanny Welch. She’s a pickpocket.”
“A pickpocket!”
“Yes, sir. And one of the smartest girls in the business. She could take your watch out of your waistcoat, and you’d be prepared to swear she hadn’t been within a yard of you. It’s almost an art, sir. But she’s promised to go straight,
