and he kept a pawnbroker's shop in the
Caledonian Road. It was his intention to have called at Scotland Yard
earlier, he explained, but his arrangements had been upset by a domestic
event in his own household.

"They've kep' me runnin' about ever since it happened," he added,
bestowing a wink of subtle meaning upon the pretty typist who had been
taking Merrington's correspondence. "The ladies--bless their
'earts--always make a fuss over a little one."

"When it is legitimate," Merrington gruffly corrected. "Miss Benson," he
said, turning to the typist, who sat in a state of suspended animation
over the typewriter at the word where he had left off dictating, "you
can leave me for a little while and come back later. Now my man," he
went on, as the door closed behind her, "I've no time to waste
discussing babies. Tell me the object of your visit."

The little man stood his ground with the imperturbable assurance of the
Cockney.

"We thought of calling it Victory 'Aig. Victory, because our London lads
seem likely to finish off the war in double-quick time, and 'Aig after
our commander, good old Duggie 'Aig, whose name is every bit good enough
for _my_ baby. What do _you_ think? Don't get your 'air off, guv'nor,"
Mr. Hobbs hastily protested, in some alarm at the expression of
Merrington's face, "I'm coming to it fast enough, but my head is so full
of this here kiddy that I hardly know whether I'm standing on my 'ead or
my 'eels. It's like this 'ere: a few days ago there was a young man come
into my shop to pawn his weskit. I lent him arf-a-crown on it and he
goes away. But, yesterday afternoon he comes back to pawn, a little
pencil-case, on which I lends him a shilling. Now, I shouldn't be
surprised if this young man wasn't the young man we was warned to look
out for as likely to offer a pearl necklace."

"What makes you think so?"

"By the description. I didn't notice him much at first, but I did the
second time, perhaps because I'd just been reading over the 'andbill
before he come in. He looks a bit the worse for wear since it was drawn
up--hadn't been shaved and seemed down on his luck--but I should say it
was the same man, even to the bits of grey on the temples. Bin a bit of
a dandy and a gentleman before he run to seed, I should say."

"What makes you think that?" asked Merrington, who had scant belief in
the theory that gentility has a hallmark of its own.

"Not his white hands--they're nothing to go by. It