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Updated: May 11, 2025
Grant and Hart were talking of anything but the murder when Bates thrust his head in. He was grasping his goatee beard, sure sign of some weight on his mind. "Beg pardon," he said, "but I thought you'd like to know. The place is just swarmin' with 'em." "Bees?" inquired Hart. Bates stared fixedly at the speaker for a second or two. "No, sir, 'tecs," he said.
But we can't know too little about ourselves in the Black Museum, Bunny. I remember going to the old place in Whitehall, years ago, and being shown round by one of the tip-top 'tecs. And this may be another." But even I could see at a glance that there was nothing of the detective and everything of the clerk about the very young man who had joined us at last upon the landing.
"Ye-es," I hesitated, with my mind on the thick necks and whisky-drinking proclivities of some of the "'tecs" I had known, "I suppose we can never rely upon absolute safety in this world." Then as I spoke a thought struck me; I noticed that the packets were rather bulging out in the pocket in which I had placed them. I had an idea I would change their position.
Strange eyes are turned upon us just for a moment, but we are not "'tecs," so the eyes are turned back to the different frying-pans or roasting-forks, as the case may be. See how they crowd round the huge and open fire, for there is no cooking range. See how they elbow each other as they want space for this pan or that fork.
It was sturdy old Bill Wrenn who snarled, "Oh, shut up!" Bill didn't feel like standing much just then. He'd punch this fellow as he'd punched Pete, as soon as not or even sooner. "Ow.... It's shut up, is it?... I've 'arf a mind to set the 'tecs on you, but I'm lyte. I'll just 'it you on the bloody nowse." Bill Wrenn stepped off the ladder and squared at him.
An' as for you, d n you, get out of this house, an' get out quick, or I'll call the police myself! We've been leadin' straight, clean, respectable lives for years, Mame an' me, an' nobody's got nothin' on us! I ain't goin' to have no private 'tecs snoopin' in an' tryin' to put me through the third degree. Beat it, now!"
"Horribly," he admitted, "and about the one person I could have talked to about it chucks me." "I don't know anything about you, or what you've done," she said. "I only know that the tecs " He laid his hand upon her fingers. She snatched them away but accepted his warning. They were served then with their meal, and their conversation drifted into other channels.
Bunting. We haven't got the same facilities no, not a quarter of them that the French 'tecs have." And then, for the first time, Mrs. Bunting spoke: "What was that word, Joe 'perpetrators'? I mean that first bit you read out." "Yes," he said, turning to her eagerly. "Then do they think there's more than one of them?" she said, and a look of relief came over her thin face.
“Fact is, my dear, I can’t take you where I live. I share the room with a friend.” He was somewhat dismayed himself. In the morning the blessed ’tecs will be out in all the stations, no doubt. And if they once got hold of her, for one reason or another she would be lost to him indeed. “But you must. Don’t you care for me at all—at all? What are you thinking of?”
"Wait a minute," exclaimed Sylvestre, "give me a bottle of whisky and two glasses, I will go over and offer some to the 'tecs; it will look as if I am trying to distract their attention from Bonafede and the cab, and will lend truth to the scene." All passed off to perfection. As the hansom drew up, Sylvestre, with a polite bow, offered a drink to Limpet and O'Brien.
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