“‘And supposin’ he was.  What about it?  I want to know what you’ve been and done with ‘im.’

“‘What makes you think I have done anything with him?’ I asked.

“’Why, I see ’im go into your ’ouse and I never see ‘im come out.’

“‘But, my good man,’ I protested, ’that is exceedingly bad logic.  If you saw him go in, there is a fair presumption that he went in—­’

“’I see ‘im with my own eyes,’ my friend interrupted, as though there were other alternative means of vision.

“‘But,’ I continued, ’the fact that you did not see him come out establishes no presumption that he did not come out.  He may have come out unobserved.’

“’No, he didn’t.  He never come out.  I see ‘im go in—­’

“‘So you have mentioned.  May I ask what his business was?’

“‘His business,’ my acquaintance replied with some hesitation, ’was of a private nature.’

“‘I see.  Did he go in by the front door?’

“’No, ’e didn’t.  ‘E went in by the scullery window.’

“‘In the evening, no doubt?’

“‘Two hay hem,’ was the reply.

“‘Ah!’ said I.  ’He went in by the scullery window at two A.M. on private business.  Quite so!  Well, you see, the common sense of the position is that if he went into the house and never came out, he must be in the house still.”

“‘That’s just what I think,’ my friend agreed.

“’Very well.  Then in that case perhaps you would like to step in and look round to see if you can find him.’  I took out my latch-key and motioned invitingly towards the museum door.

“‘No yer don’t,’ exclaimed the man, backing away hastily down the street.  ‘Yer don’t git me in there, so I tell yer straight.’

“‘What do you want me to do, then?’

“‘I want to know,’ he reiterated, ’what you’ve been and done with my cousin Bill.  I see ‘im go into—­’

“‘I know,’ I interrupted impatiently.  ‘You said that before.’

“’And look ‘ere, guv’nor,’ he added.  ’Where did you git all them skillintons from?’ Evidently somebody had been talking to this little rascal.

“‘I can’t go into questions of that kind, you know,’ I replied.

“‘No, I don’t suppose yer can,’ he retorted; ’but I’ll tell yer what I think you’ve been and done with Bill.  You got ’im in there and you done ’im in.  That’s what I think.  And I tell yer it ain’t the cheese.  When a cove goes into an ’ouse for to do an ’armless crack he stands for to be lagged if so be as he ’appens to git copped.  But ’e don’t stand for to be done in.  ‘Tain’t playin’ the game, and I ain’t a-goin’ to ‘ave it.’

“‘Then what do you propose to do?’ I asked with some curiosity.

“‘I perpose,’ the little wastrel replied haughtily, ’for to ’ave the loar on yer.  I’m a-goin’ to put the coppers on to this ‘ere job.’