"It were," agreed Martin.

"Same as Mr. Edward," continued the narrator, "young Harry Adams
wouldn't say a word about what happened to him. But when Mr. Edward
first see him, all over sticking-plaster, he laughed till the pots
nearly fell off the hooks, he did. Little did he guess his own turn
was to come!"

My interest revived.

"Then in the case of, er--Mr. Adams," I said, "you never had any
particulars whatever?"

"Never," replied Martin. "Time, please, gentlemen."

"Aye," said Hawkins, rising. "Time it be. Well, good night, sir. Good
night, Martin."

"Good night."

Hawkins moved towards the door, and indeed was on the point of going
out when I remembered something which I had meant to ask earlier, but
which, owing to lack of opportunity, I had postponed asking.

"You spoke of a gift or keepsake, which the lady from London gave to
Mr. Hines," I said. "I think you mentioned that he had shown it to
you. I am rather curious about this story. Might I ask the nature of
the gift?"