“Don’t mind this gentleman,” says Mr. Tulkinghorn in his quiet way.  “This is only Mr. Bucket.”

“Oh, indeed, sir?” returns the stationer, expressing by a cough that he is quite in the dark as to who Mr. Bucket may be.

“I wanted him to hear this story,” says the lawyer, “because I have half a mind (for a reason) to know more of it, and he is very intelligent in such things.  What do you say to this, Bucket?”

“It’s very plain, sir.  Since our people have moved this boy on, and he’s not to be found on his old lay, if Mr. Snagsby don’t object to go down with me to Tom-all-Alone’s and point him out, we can have him here in less than a couple of hours’ time.  I can do it without Mr. Snagsby, of course, but this is the shortest way.”

“Mr. Bucket is a detective officer, Snagsby,” says the lawyer in explanation.

“Is he indeed, sir?” says Mr. Snagsby with a strong tendency in his clump of hair to stand on end.

“And if you have no real objection to accompany Mr. Bucket to the place in question,” pursues the lawyer, “I shall feel obliged to you if you will do so.”

In a moment’s hesitation on the part of Mr. Snagsby, Bucket dips down to the bottom of his mind.

“Don’t you be afraid of hurting the boy,” he says.  “You won’t do that.  It’s all right as far as the boy’s concerned.  We shall only bring him here to ask him a question or so I want to put to him, and he’ll be paid for his trouble and sent away again.  It’ll be a good job for him.  I promise you, as a man, that you shall see the boy sent away all right.  Don’t you be afraid of hurting him; you an’t going to do that.”

“Very well, Mr. Tulkinghorn!” cries Mr. Snagsby cheerfully.  And reassured, “Since that’s the case—­”

“Yes!  And lookee here, Mr. Snagsby,” resumes Bucket, taking him aside by the arm, tapping him familiarly on the breast, and speaking in a confidential tone.  “You’re a man of the world, you know, and a man of business, and a man of sense.  That’s what you are.”

“I am sure I am much obliged to you for your good opinion,” returns the stationer with his cough of modesty, “but—­”

“That’s what you are, you know,” says Bucket.  “Now, it an’t necessary to say to a man like you, engaged in your business, which is a business of trust and requires a person to be wide awake and have his senses about him and his head screwed on tight (I had an uncle in your business once)—­it an’t necessary to say to a man like you that it’s the best and wisest way to keep little matters like this quiet.  Don’t you see?  Quiet!”

“Certainly, certainly,” returns the other.

“I don’t mind telling you,” says Bucket with an engaging appearance of frankness, “that as far as I can understand it, there seems to be a doubt whether this dead person wasn’t entitled to a little property, and whether this female hasn’t been up to some games respecting that property, don’t you see?”