A long-drawn snore was the only answer. He
hammered on the door with his cane till he heard the grating of a chair
on a brick floor; the door opened, and a blowsy, red-faced woman peered
at him with blinking eyes.
"You have a little boy here in your charge. I've come for him," said
Sir Tancred.
The woman only blinked at him stupidly.
"I've come for the little boy," said Sir Tancred loudly.
A look of drunken cunning stole into the woman's muddled face. She
said thickly, "There ain't no lil boy 'ere," and tried to shut the door.
Sir Tancred thrust it open with a vigour which sent her staggering into
a chair, and stepped into the squalid, reeking room. Hunched up in a
chair, opposite the woman, sat a snoring man.
"Come!" said Sir Tancred. "I want no nonsense! Where's the child?"
A dull, muddled rage gathered in the woman's eyes; she made an effort
to rise on quite irresponsive legs. "Halbut!" she howled. "Halbut,
wake up! Here's a thief an' a burglar trying to steal the brat!"
The man grunted, and jerked out of his sleep with the mystic word,
"Washishish?"
"It'sh burglarsh, Halbut!" cried the woman, who seemed suddenly to see
two or more Sir Tancreds. "They're shtealing bratsh! Bash 'em!"
Halbut jerked onto his feet, and stood lurching:
"Englishmansh oush ish ish cashle," he said, with a ferocity which
petered out in an idiotic grin.
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