"Thank ye, sir; I will," he said, with pitiful alacrity. "Down by Belgravia? Oh, I know it well; I lived down in them parts with a gentleman of the name of Bateson--perhaps you knew him; he 's dead now--the Honourable Bateson. Thank ye, sir; I'll be sure to come";and, snatching at his battered hat, he toilsomely secreted Shelton's card amongst his character. A minute later he began again to nod.
The policeman passed a second time; his gaze seemed to say, "Now, what's a toff doing on that seat with those two rotters?" And Shelton caught his eye.
"Ah!" he thought; "exactly! You don't know what to make of me--a man of my position sitting here! Poor devil! to spend your days in spying on your fellow-creatures! Poor devil! But you don't know that you 're a poor devil, and so you 're not one."The man on the next bench sneezed--a shrill and disapproving sneeze.
The policeman passed again, and, seeing that the lower creatures were both dozing, he spoke to Shelton:
"Not very safe on these 'ere benches, sir," he said; "you never know who you may be sittin' next to. If I were you, sir, I should be gettin' on--if you 're not goin' to spend the night here, that is";and he laughed, as at an admirable joke.
Shelton looked at him, and itched to say, "Why shouldn't I?" but it struck him that it would sound very odd. "Besides," he thought, "Ishall only catch a cold"; and, without speaking, he left the seat, and went along towards his rooms.