“Charges?” repeated Mr. Hucks.  “Eh?  Lost one of your orphans?  Well, I haven’t found him—­or her, if it’s a girl.  Why don’t you go to the police?”

“It is a boy.  Naturally I hesitate to apply to the police if the poor child can be recovered without their assistance.  Publicity in these matters, as no doubt you can understand—­”

Mr. Hucks nodded.

“I understand fast enough.”

“The newspapers exaggerate . . . and then the public—­even the charitable public—­take up some groundless suspicion—­”

“Puts two and two together,” agreed Mr. Hucks, still nodding, “and then the fat’s in the fire.  No, I wouldn’ have the police poke a nose into the ’Oly Innocents—­not if I was you.  But how do I come into this business?”

“In this way.  One of your employees was delivering coal to-day at the Orphanage—­”

“Fifteen ton.”

“—­and I have some reason to believe that the child escaped by way of the coal-cellar.  I am not suggesting that he was helped.”

“Aren’t you?  Well, I’m glad to hear you say it, for it did look like you was drivin’ at something o’ the sort.  I don’t collect orphans, for my part,” said Mr. Hucks with a glance around.

“What I meant to say was that your man—­whoever he was—­might be able to give some information.”

“He might,” conceded Mr. Hucks guardedly, “and he mightn’t; and then again he might be more able than willin’.”

“Must I remind you, Mr. Hucks, that a person who abets or connives at the sort of thing we are discussing is likely to find himself in trouble? or that even a refusal of information may be awkwardly construed?”

“Now see here, Glasson”—­Mr. Hucks filled his pipe, and having lit it, leaned both elbows on the table and stared across at his visitor—­ “don’t you ride the high horse with me.  A moment ago you weren’t suggestin’ anything, and you’d best stick to that.  As for my man—­ whoever he was—­you can’t charge him with stealin’ one o’ your blessed orphans until you lay hold on the orphan he stole and produce him in court.  That’s Habeas Corpus, or else ’tis Magna Charter—­I forget which.  What’s more, you’d never face a court, an’ you know it.”  He cast a curious glance at the Doctor’s face, and added, “Sit down.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Sit down.  No, not there.”  But the warning came too late.  “Not hurt yourself, I hope?” he asked, as the Doctor rubbed that part of himself which had come into collision with the sharp edge of a concertina.  “Clear away that coil of hose and take a seat on the packing-case yonder.  That’s right; and now let’s talk.”  He puffed for a moment and appeared to muse.  “Seems to me, Glasson, you’re in the devil of a hurry to catch this child.”

“My anxiety is natural, I should hope.”

“No it ain’t,” said Mr. Hucks with brutal candour.

“And that’s what’s the matter with it.  What’s more, you come to me.  Now,” with continued candour, “I ain’t what you might call a model Christian; but likewise you don’t reckon me the sort that would help you pick up orphans just for the fun of handin’ ’em over to you to starve.  So I conclude,” Mr. Hucks wound up, “there’s money in this somewhere.”