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Updated: June 25, 2025
Sid Marks had been in court chewing a straw and listening with grave attention to the evidence, and for one moment Mr. Buffin had happened to catch his eye. No medical testimony as to the unhealthiness of London could have moved him more. Once round the corner, he ran. It hurt his head to run, but there were things behind him that could hurt his head more than running.
To be misunderstood in the circles in which Mr. Buffin moved meant something more than the mere risk of being treated with cold displeasure. He began to explain with feverish eagerness. "Strike me, Sid," he stammered, "it ain't like that. It's all right. Blimey, you don't fink I'm a nark?" Mr. Marks chewed a straw in silence. "I'm layin' for him, Sid," babbled Mr. Buffin. "That's true.
There was a quiet alertness in his poise, a danger-signal in itself. There was only one thing for Mr. Buffin to do. Greatly as it would go against the grain, he must foregather with the man, win his confidence, put himself in a position where he would be able to find out what he did with himself when off duty. The policeman offered no obstacle to the move.
When not in the active discharge of his professional duties the policeman was a kindly man. He bore Mr. Buffin no grudge. "Um," said Mr. Buffin. "Feeling fine, eh?" "Um." "Goin' round to see some of the chaps and pass them the time of day, I shouldn't wonder?" "Um." "Well, you keep clear of that lot down in Frith Street, young feller. They're no good.
One was Otto the Sausage; the other was Rabbit Butler. The kneeling policeman was proffering the bottle once more. Mr. Buffin snatched at it. He felt that it was just what at that moment he needed most. He did what he could. The magistrate asked for his evidence. He said he had none. He said he thought there must be some mistake.
It was the occasional discovery in our midst of ethereal natures like that of Mr. Buffin which made one so confident for the future of the race. The paragon shuffled out. It was bright and sunny in the street, but in Mr. Buffin's heart there was no sunlight. He was not a quick thinker, but he had come quite swiftly to the conclusion that London was no longer the place for him.
The days slipped by, bringing winter to Clerkenwell, and with it Mr. Buffin. He returned to his old haunts one Friday night, thin but in excellent condition. One of the first acquaintances he met was Officer Keating. The policeman, who had a good memory for faces, recognised him, and stopped. "So you're out, young feller?" he said genially.
A supreme self-confidence was his leading characteristic. Few London policemen are diffident, and Mr. Keating was no exception. It never occurred to him that there could be an ulterior motive behind Mr. Buffin's advances. He regarded Mr. Buffin much as one regards a dog which one has had to chastise. One does not expect the dog to lie in wait and bite. Officer Keating did not expect Mr.
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