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"He said, 'She she's a lady detective," stammered Mrs. Jobling, putting her handkerchief to her unruly mouth. "A tec!" repeated her husband. "A lady tec?" Mrs. Jobling nodded. "Yes, Bill. She she she " "Well?" said Mr. Jobling, in exasperation. "She's being employed by Gingell and Watson," said his wife. Mr.
I must calm Bill and the 'tec. in case you Mary, do weigh whatever Wyvern says, won't you?" She promised; gave her George her hope that the Professor would make her see differently. "That's splendid of you!" George cried. "Saint and goose, that's sweet of you. Mary, I'm sure he will. Look here, I must fly; come half-way to the station. The cat's all right here. Pop up and feed her this afternoon."
Mullins has been marching his men up here this afternoon. There’s a constable stuck by every lamp-post, and every second person we meet between this and Palace Yard is an obvious ‘tec.’ It will get on his nerves presently. I say, these foreign scoundrels aren’t likely to throw something at him—are they? It would be a national calamity. The country can’t spare him.” “Not to mention yourself.
If you could put fifty quid in it would be so much the better. And, what-ever you do, don't make a noise. I don't want a lot o' clumsy policemen interfering in my business." "Still, s'pose you didn't catch 'em," ses Sam, "where should I be?" "You needn't be afraid o' that," ses the tec, with a laugh. "Here, I'll tell you wot I'll do, and that'll show you the trust I put in you."
No more bows and smiles after that; but what could they do, and what offence had she committed? That was just what the 'tec asked me, and I could not answer. "We know most of 'em," he said, "but she's a right-down finger-print from the backwoods. Nathaniel St. John cables from New York that he doesn't know her, but will be pleased to make her acquaintance, if we'll frank her over.
This was a surmise a surmise and nothing more; and yet how true it proved! I had a 'tec with me on the following afternoon, and a pretty tale he had to tell. Not, mind you, as he himself declared, that Dolly was really dishonest. She had left a few bills behind her; but where is the woman who does not do that, and who would think the better of her if she didn't?
"I dunno what that's got to do with it, but the feller's name is Paddington, an' he's the worst kind of a crook a 'tec gone wrong. At least, that's what they say about him, but I ain't got nothin' on him; I don't believe I ever seen the man, that I know of. He's worked on a lot of shady cases; I know that much, an' he's clever.
Pennold's shaking voice rose to a breaking cry, but again his wife silenced him. "Suppose we did write such a letter an' we ain't admittin' we did, for a minute what's Blaine got on us?" demanded Mame, coolly. "It's no crime, as I ever heard, to write a letter any way you want to. Who are you, young man? You're no bank clerk!" "He's a 'tec, of course! Shut up your fool mouth, Mame.
I really fancied I had a clew to the Steynholme murderer. And where do you think it ended? In the loft of your club-room, Mr. Tomlin. In a box of old clothes at that. Silly, isn't it?" "Wot! Them amatoor play-hactin' things?" "Exactly." Elkin grunted, though intending to laugh. "Not so sharp for a London 'tec, I must say," he cried. "Why, those props have been there since before Christmas." "Yes.
There's a couple o' chaps down 'ere I'm told off to look arter special, but it's no good unless I can catch 'em red-'anded." "Red-'anded?" ses Sam. "With their hands in the chap's pockets, I mean," ses the tec. Sam gave a shiver. "Somebody had their 'ands in my pockets once," he ses. "Four pun ten and some coppers they got." "Wot was they like?" ses the tee, starting. Sam shook his 'ead.
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