ear to a crack.

The accents of one speaker were new in his hearing, stern, crisp, quick
with the spirit of authority which animates that most austere and dignified
limb of the law to be encountered the world over, a London bobby.

"Now then, my man, what do you want there? Come now, speak up, and step out
into the light, where I can see you."

The response came in the sniffling snarl of the London ne'er-do-well, the
unemployable rogue whose chiefest occupation seems to be to march in the
ranks of The Unemployed on the occasion of its annual demonstrations.

"Le' me alone, carntcher? Ah'm doin' no 'arm, officer,--"

"Didn't you hear me? Step out here. Ah, that's better.... No harm, eh?
Perhaps you'll explain how there's no harm breakin' into unoccupied
'ouses?"

"Gorblimy, 'ow was I to know? 'Ere's a toff 'ands me sixpence fer hopenin'
'is cab door to-dye, an', sezee, 'My man,' 'e sez, 'yer've got a 'onest
fyce. W'y don'cher work?' sezee. ''Ow can I?' sez I. ''Ere'm I hout of
a job these six months, lookin' fer work every dye an' carn't find it.'
Sezee, 'Come an' see me this hevenin' at me home, Noine, Frognall Stryte,'
'e sez, an'--"

"That'll do for now. You borrow a pencil and paper and write it down and
I'll read it when I've got more time; I never heard the like of it. This
'ouse hasn't been lived in these two years. Move on, and don't let me find
you round 'ere again. March, I say!"