fought satire in the workshop of Barraclough and Co. on the morning following Alfred's arrest. The news, brought by the husband of the cottage-loaf lady, became known at an early hour, and travelled instantly from one noisy whirring building to the others. Alfred was known only to men in his own shop, and not known by them, with the single exception of Finnis, in any close degree, but now that he had become famous, every man affected to have known him intimately; the morning filled partly with the ordinary work, partly with reminiscences. Only a few dared to support William Finnis in asserting confidence in Alfred's ability to clear himself. The wordy foreman went about between the benches wearing triumph as though it were a new hat.
When the bell rang, William Finnis, hurrying out, put aside all thoughts of a meal, and caught a tram to Greenwich. At the stout wooden doors leading to the yard of the police-court a cheerful sergeant informed him that Alfred's case had just been taken, and that he had been remanded for seven days.
'Any chance of bailing him out?' asked Finnis anxiously.
'You a householder?' asked the sergeant in reply.
William Finnis shook his head.
'Then what's the use of talking?' said the sergeant. 'Besides, it's too big a thing for bail. He'll go to Holloway presently, and anyone that's got a right to see him can see him there.'
'Lively!' commented William Finnis with a desolate air.
'Got a mouthpiece for him?'
'Not yet.'
'Try Rook,' suggested the sergeant. 'Rook'll get him through light if anybody can. They might deal with the case summar'ly—mind you, I don't say they would—and that'll be a jolly sight better than his going to the Sessions.'
'What'd it run to?' asked William Finnis.
'Matter of three guineas to start.'
'I can manage that. Much obliged for giving me the tip.'
'Don't mention it,' said the cheerful sergeant. 'I always believe in giving good advice all round.'
At Exmouth Terrace there was an atmosphere of excitement. Matrons, their dresses partially fastened, stood at front doors conversing with ladies whose heads were out of first-floor windows, or with ladies at front doors opposite; small children, taking advantage of the preoccupation of mothers, sprawled about in the roadway, contesting ardently for the possession of one or two pools of muddy water. Mr. Finnis's arrival at the door of No. 18 stopped the chatter; the matrons looked at him with some reproach and astonishment. The door opened cautiously. William Finnis recognised the lady who performed this service as Miss Ladd.
'Have I mistook the number?' said William Finois, glancing at the little white oval plate on the door. 'Name of Bateson.'
'Come inside,' whispered Miss Ladd, with an air of great mystery, 'and walk as quiet as your great clumsy boots will let you.'
In following Miss Ladd on careful tip-toe, he heard a weak, muffled, wailing cry upstairs. The woman conducting him to the kitchen stopped and listened, and then went on again. Finnis knew her by sight; knew her brother, and disliked them both with the heartiness of a plain man who dislikes few people.
'I'll shut the door,' said Miss Ladd, still in a whisper, 'and then our voices won't be 'eard.'
'Is she better?' asked William Finnis.
'Better?' echoed Miss Ladd with great contempt.
'Yes,' repeated Finnis doggedly, 'better.'
'Why, you poor silly man,' said Miss Ladd pityingly, 'don't you know that there's a dear little baby boy come to town?'
'You're joking!'
'I never joke,' said Miss Ladd sternly, 'and if I did I should give off better jokes than that. I called this morning to see her,
'What for?'
Miss Ladd paused.
'There's no 'arm is my telling you,' she said, looking out of the window. 'I'd made up my mind that someone ought to open her eyes in regard to Alf, and to let her know that be 'adn't been the spotless archangel that she seemed to think him. Made me mad, it did, to see her living in a kind of a fool's paradise, and I called this morning with the idea of telling her—in confidence, mind—of one or two things he'd been mixed up in with that brother of mine.'
'Well,' said Finnis, 'you're a bright, pleasant, genial sort of a character, you are.'