"
"Make it a thousand," said Mr. Carson decisively. "It's the doing
of those damned turn-outs."
"I imagine not," said the superintendent. "Some days ago the man I
was naming to you before, reported to the inspector when he came on
his beat, that he had to separate your son from a young man, who by
his dress he believed to be employed in a foundry; that the man had
thrown Mr. Carson down, and seemed inclined to proceed to more
violence, when the policeman came up and interfered. Indeed, my man
wished to give him in charge for an assault, but Mr. Carson would
not allow that to be done."
"Just like him!--noble fellow!" murmured the father.
"But after your son had left, the man made use of some pretty strong
threats. And it's rather a curious coincidence that this scuffle
took place in the very same spot where the murder was committed; in
Turner Street."
There was some one knocking at the door of the room. It was Sophy,
who beckoned her father out, and then asked him, in an awestruck
whisper, to come upstairs and speak to her mother.
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