If he
will be good enough to continue ..."
The Irishman gave a light, derisive laugh. Shifting uneasily in his chair,
the man in the checked suit flushed darkly, then stiffened his spine,
hardened his eyes, set his jaw, and faced Number One defiantly.
"You 'eard ... I 'olds by w'at I said."
"I am to understand, then, you think it time for me to abdicate and let
another lead you in my stead?"
The Englishman assented with an inarticulate monosyllable and a surly nod.
"And may one ask why?"
"Blue's plice in Pekin Street was r'ided this afternoon," Seven announced
truculently. "But per'aps you didn't know--"
"Not until some time before the news reached you," One replied, pleasantly.
"And what of it?"
"Three fycers in a week, Gov'ner--anybody'll tell you that's comin' it a
bit thick."
"Granted. What then?"
"That's only part of it. Tike last week: Eighteen pinched, the queer plant
in 'Igh Street pulled by the coppers--"
"I know, I know. To your point!"
Seven hesitated under that steely stare. "I leave it to you, Gov'ner," he
continued to stammer at length. "S'y you was me and I was Number One--w'at
would you think?"
"Why, quite naturally, that some superior intelligence has latterly been
collaborating with Scotland Yard."
"Aren't you a bit behindhand in arriving at that conclusion?" the Irishman
suggested with an ill-dissembled sneer.
"No, Eleven," Number One replied, mildly, "since I arrived at it some time
since."
"But took no measures--"
"You are in a position to state that as a fact?"
Eleven shrugged lightly.
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