It seemed incredible that Uncle
Felix could be arrested, and yet things had an appearance of it.
"Kindly close the gate so that we cannot be overheard," he said
firmly, "and then be good enough to state your business here." He did
not offer him a seat; he did not suggest a cup of tea; he spoke like a
brave man who expected danger but was prepared to meet it.
The Policeman stepped back and closed the gate. He then stepped
forward again a little nearer than before. From a pocket, hitherto
invisible inside his belt, he drew forth a crumpled notebook and a
stub of pencil. He was very dignified and very grave. He took a deep
breath, held the paper and pencil ready to use, expanded his chest
till it resembled a toy balloon in the Park, and said:
"I am looking for a man." He paused, then added: "Have you seen a man
about?"
"About what?" asked Uncle Felix innocently.
"About fifty or thereabouts," replied the other. "Disguised in rags
and a wig of hair and a false beard."
"What has he done?" It was like a game of chess, both opponents well
matched. Uncle Felix was too big to be caught napping by clever
questions that hid traps.
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