III
That day happened to be the day of Thomas Chadwick's afternoon off; at
least, of what the tram company called an afternoon off. That is to say,
instead of ceasing work at eleven-thirty p.m. he finished at six-thirty
p.m. In the ordinary way the company housed its last Moorthorne car at
eleven-thirty (Moorthorne not being a very nocturnal village), and gave
the conductors the rest of the evening to spend exactly as they liked;
but once a week, in turn, it generously allowed them a complete
afternoon beginning at six-thirty.
Now on this afternoon, instead of going home for tea, Thomas Chadwick,
having delivered over his insignia and takings to the inspector in
Bursley market-place, rushed away towards a car bound for Hillport. A
policeman called out to him:
"Hi! Chadwick!"
"What's up?" asked Chadwick, unwillingly stopping.
"Mrs Clayton Vernon's been to the station an hour ago or hardly, about a
purse as she says she thinks she must have left in your car. I was just
coming across to tell your inspector."
"Tell him, then, my lad," said Chadwick, curtly, and hurried on towards
the Hillport car. His manner to policemen always mingled the veteran
with the comrade, and most of them indeed regarded him as an initiate of
the craft.
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