Towards the end of their journey she had to direct the cabman; and past the last long row or little red-brick villas, in a waste from which the agriculturalist had retired in favour of the jerry-builder, they came to the goal, three dirty, tumble-down cottages. The cab stopped at the third cottage; Selina sat back in the seat and pulled down her veil, in case Mrs. Bostock should recognise her; Sir Tancred got down and knocked at the door. A long-drawn snore was the only answer. He hammered on the door with his cane till he heard the grating of a chair on a brick floor; the door opened, and a blowsy, red-faced woman peered at him with blinking eyes.
"You have a little boy here in your charge. I've come for him," said Sir Tancred.
"I've come for the little boy," said Sir Tancred loudly.
A look of drunken cunning stole into the woman's muddled face. She said thickly, "There ain't no lil boy 'ere," and tried to shut the door.
Sir Tancred thrust it open with a vigour which sent her staggering into a chair, and stepped into the squalid, reeking room. Hunched up in a chair, opposite the woman, sat a snoring man.
"Come!" said Sir Tancred. "I want no nonsense! Where's the child?"
A dull, muddled rage gathered in the woman's eyes; she made an effort to rise on quite irresponsive legs. "Halbut!" she howled. "Halbut, wake up! Here's a thief an' a burglar trying to steal the brat!"
The man grunted, and jerked out of his sleep with the mystic word, "Washishish?"
"It'sh burglarsh, Halbut!" cried the woman, who seemed suddenly to see two or more Sir Tancreds. "They're shtealing bratsh! Bash 'em!"
Halbut jerked onto his feet, and stood lurching:
"Englishmansh oush ish ish cashle," he said, with a ferocity which petered out in an idiotic grin.
Halbut advanced in a circular movement on Sir Tancred, with his fists up; "Englishmansh oush ish ish cashle," he said firmly.
Sir Tancred lunged smartly at his chest with his cane; and he tumbled down with his face to the wall.
"Englishmansh oush ish ish cashle," he said drowsily to the wainscot, and was still.
Sir Tancred took the woman gingerly by the shoulder, and gave her a shake. "Where's the child?" he said.
Apparently he had shaken the fumes up and the intelligence down, for her only answer was a burst of sibilant incoherence.