“It’s mud!” he ses.

“You keep your nails to yourself,” I ses.  “It’s nothing to do with you.” and I couldn’t ’elp noticing the smell of it.  Nobody could.  And wot was worse than all was, that the tide ’ad turned and was creeping over the mud in the dock.

They got tired of it at last and came back to where I was and stood there shaking their ’eads at me.

“If he was on the wharf ’e must ’ave made his escape while you was in the Bear’s Head,” ses the policeman.

“He was in my place a long time,” ses the landlord.

“Well, it’s no use crying over spilt milk,” ses the policeman.  “Funny smell about ’ere, ain’t there?” he ses, sniffing, and turning to the landlord.  “Wot is it?”

“I dunno,” ses the landlord.  “I noticed it while we was talking to ’im at the gate.  It seems to foller ’im about.”

“I’ve smelt things I like better,” ses the policeman, sniffing agin.  “It’s just like the foreshore when somebody ’as been stirring the mud up a bit.”

“Unless it’s a case of ’tempted suicide,” he ses, looking at me very ’ard.

“Ah!” ses the landlord.

“There’s no mud on ’is clothes,” ses the policeman, looking me over with his lantern agin.

“He must ’ave gone in naked, but I should like to see ’is legs to make—­ All right!  All right!  Keep your ’air on.”

“You look arter your own legs, then,” I ses, very sharp, “and mind your own business.”

“It is my business,” he ses, turning to the landlord.  “Was ’e strange in his manner at all when ’e was in your place to-night?”

“He smashed one o’ my best glasses,” ses the landlord.

“So he did,” ses the policeman.  “So he did.  I’d forgot that.  Do you know ’im well?”

“Not more than I can ’elp,” ses the landlord.  “He’s been in my place a good bit, but I never knew of any reason why ’e should try and do away with ’imself.  If he’s been disappointed in love, he ain’t told me anything about it.”

I suppose that couple o’ fools ’ud ’ave stood there talking about me all night if I’d ha’ let ’em, but I had about enough of it.

“Look ’ere,” I ses, “you’re very clever, both of you, but you needn’t worry your ’eads about me.  I’ve just been having a mud-bath, that’s all.”

“A mud-bath!” ses both of ’em, squeaking like a couple o’ silly parrots.

“For rheumatics,” I ses.  “I ’ad it some-thing cruel to-night, and I thought that p’r’aps the mud ’ud do it good.  I read about it in the papers.  There’s places where you pay pounds and pounds for ’em, but, being a pore man, I ’ad to ’ave mine on the cheap.”

The policeman stood there looking at me for a moment, and then ’e began to laugh till he couldn’t stop ’imself.

“Love-a-duck!” he ses, at last, wiping his eyes.  “I wish I’d seen it.”

“Must ha’ looked like a fat mermaid,” ses the landlord, wagging his silly ’ead at me.  “I can just see old Bill sitting in the mud a-combing his ’air and singing.”