Constable Wigg interposed. "Just now you said parleyvooish."
"Speaks with a foreign accent, you said."
"Well, perhaps; but not Monseer--Monshure."
"I give in to you, Nightingale; I'm not a French scholar."
"Let's call him Mr., for all that. Monshure twists the tongue unless you're born there."
"I'm agreeable. Call him Mr. if you like. Hallo!"
The exclamation was caused by Mrs. Middlemore's street door being suddenly opened without any preliminary warning from within, and with such swiftness and violence that the policemen almost fell through it into the passage. As they were recovering their equilibrium a man stepped out of the house, or rather stumbled out of it, in a state of great excitement. He had a crimson scarf round his neck; it was loosely tied, and the ends floated in the wind. The little bit of color shone bright in the glare of white snow. Its wearer pulled the door after him and hurried along the street, looking neither to the right nor to the left, and taking no notice of the policemen, who strained their eyes after him. He walked very unsteadily, and was soon out of sight.
"That's a rum start," said Constable Wigg. "Was it Mr. Felix?"
"No," replied Constable Nightingale, "Mr. Felix is altogether a different kind of man. Takes things more coolly. Walks slow, talks slow, thinks slow, looks at you slow. This fellow was like a flash of lightning. Did you catch sight of his face?"
"He was in such a devil of a hurry that there was no catching sight of anything except the red handkerchief round his neck. There was no mistaking that. Seemed a youngish man."
"Yes. Been on a visit to Mr. Felix, most likely."
"Or to some other lodger in the house," suggested Constable Wigg.
"There ain't no other," said Constable Nightingale. "Every room in it except the basement is let to Mr. Felix."
"A married man, then' with a large family?"
"No," said Constable Nightingale, with a little cough. "Single. Or, perhaps, a widower. No business of ours, Wigg."
"Certainly not. Go on with your story, Nightingale. 'You're wanted up there' says Mrs. Middlemore."
"Yes. 'You're wanted up there,' she says, meaning Mr. Felix's rooms. 'Did Mr. Felix send for me?' I ask. 'He did,' she answers. 'He rings his bell and says, "Go for a policeman." And he'll not be sorry it's you, Mr. Nightingale, because you're a man as can be trusted,' Mrs. Middlemore's precise words. You see, Wigg, me and her ain't exactly strangers. I'm a single man, and I'm mistook if she ain't got a bit of money put by."