"It's mud!" he ses.

"You keep your nails to yourself," I ses. "It's nothing to do with you."
and I couldn't 'elp noticing the smell of it. Nobody could. And wot was
worse than all was, that the tide 'ad turned and was creeping over the
mud in the dock.

They got tired of it at last and came back to where I was and stood there
shaking their 'eads at me.

"If he was on the wharf 'e must 'ave made his escape while you was in the
Bear's Head," ses the policeman.

"He was in my place a long time," ses the landlord.

"Well, it's no use crying over spilt milk," ses the policeman. "Funny
smell about 'ere, ain't there?" he ses, sniffing, and turning to the
landlord. "Wot is it?"

"I dunno," ses the landlord. "I noticed it while we was talking to 'im
at the gate. It seems to foller 'im about."

"I've smelt things I like better," ses the policeman, sniffing agin.
"It's just like the foreshore when somebody 'as been stirring the mud up
a bit."

"Unless it's a case of 'tempted suicide," he ses, looking at me very
'ard.