'That's the knife I use at my trade,' the man exclaimed indignantly. 'I
am a ladies' slipper-maker, and that's the knife I use for cutting into
the leathers, because it cuts clean, don't you see, and makes no waste.
Lord bless you, governor, what a notion you have got into your 'ead! I
shall amuse my old woman when I tell her.'

'Why did you have the knife in your hand?' Sarrasin sternly asked.

'Took it out, governor, jest by chance when I was taking put the
letter.'

'You don't carry a knife like that open in your pocket,' Sarrasin said
sternly. 'It closes up, I suppose, or else you have a sheath for it. Oh,
yes, I see the spring--it closes this way and I think I have seen this
pretty sort of weapon before. Well, look here, you don't carry that sort
of toy open in your pocket, you know. How did it come open?'

'Blest if I know, governor--you are all a-puzzlin' of me.'

'Show me the knife,' the Dictator said, taking for the first time some
genuine interest in the discussion.

'Look at it,' Sarrasin said. 'Don't give it back to him.'

The Dictator took the knife in his hand, and, touching the spring with
the manner of one who understood it, closed and opened the weapon
several times.

'I know the knife very well,' he said; 'it has been brought into South
America a good deal, but I believe it is Sicilian to begin with. Look
here, my man, you say you are a ladies' slipper-maker?'

'Of course I am. Ain't I told you so?'

'Whom do you work for?'

'Works for myself, governor.'

'Where is your shop?'

'Down in the East End, don't you know?'

'I want to talk to you about the East End,' Mrs. Sarrasin struck in with
her musical, emphatic voice. 'Tell me exactly where you live.'

'Out Whitechapel way.'

'But please tell me the exact place. I happen to know Whitechapel pretty
well.'

'Off Whitechapel Road there.'

'Where?'

He made a sulky effort to evade. Mrs. Sarrasin was not to be so easily
evaded.

'Tell me,' she said, 'the name of the street you live in, and the name
of any streets near to it, and how they lie with regard to each other.
Come, don't think about it, but tell me; you must know where you live
and work.'

'I don't want to have you puzzlin' and worritin' me.'

'Can you tell me where this street is'--she named a street--'or this
court, or that hospital, or the nearest omnibus stand to the hospital?'

No, he didn't remember any of these places; he had enough to do mindin'
of his wor