Again and again had the tale been told, but each batch of newcomers found it easy to draw forth a repetition, for Swithin was like a gramophone in his readiness to oblige the company; and as he fortunately lacked the mechanical precision of that instrument, even those who had heard the story more than once bent forward to listen to it again, being convinced that there would be variations in the treatment though not in the theme. Never had Swithin shown himself to better advantage. The account that he had been required to give in Court had been prepared in advance during the long weeks that followed the hour of his enlightenment, when his faculty of putting two and two together had enabled him to see what the detective was “getting at,” and made him that astute officer’s confidant and ally. If he stood on stilts during the narration it was because he was even yet in spirit and imagination addressing the bench of magistrates who had complimented him on his evidence. “‘Suck-cink and to t’ point,’ the Chairman said, when he tell’d me I could stand down!” There could be no doubt that Swithin was immensely proud of that high-sounding commendation. Nobody present was familiar with the word the old man had rolled so appreciatively on his tongue, but what of that? It was manifestly an expression that was used by the lords of the land to the men they delighted to honour. “It caps all ever I ’eard tell of; and to think ’at if it ’adn’t been for Swithin he might never ha’ been fun out!” “Nay, to think ’at if it hadn’t ha’ been for Swithin, Jagger’d mebbe ha’ got five year!” It was not honey to Swithin, for the old man cared nothing for such sickly sweetness, but it was beer and ’bacca in overflowing measure. “Nay, nay,” he said in a protesting tone that invited contradiction; “it’s Detective-Sergeant Harker Jagger’s got to thank, not me. A fine chap you have there, neighbours. Before ever I tipped him t’ wink, as you may put it, he had t’ thief spotted—_nosed_ him—that’s what it is wi’ such as Harker. T’ minute he set eyes on him and heard him bluster, says he to his-sen, ‘That’s my man!’ and there wor nowt to go by. Then I puts my bit in, on t’ quiet; and as sly as a couple of stoats we’ve worked together ever sin’; for there’s them at isn’t in t’ force, neighbours, ’at happen ought to ha’ been.” “It’s a gift, Swith’n; it’s a gift, lad!” wheezed Ambrose. “I’m not denying it, Ambrus,” replied Swithin modestly. “I says, ‘If it wasn’t Inman’s voice ’at cursed when he ran agen t’ wall that night ’at I wor waiting o’ Crumple to cauve you can call me a liar, says I, and have done wi’ ’t.’ And he just opened his note-book and put down all I tell’d him. Then when t’ snaw melted he fun t’ button, and that cooked Inman his goose.” “Found what button?” inquired Job; who lived so far away that he had been one of the last to arrive.