had imperiously repeated the question that he came to the point of so doing.
So accustomed was Joseph Kelly to the giving of evidence that unconsciously he assumed the air of one upon his oath.
"I was perceding" said he, "about twenty-past four through Grosvenor Square, on my way to Victoria, when I see through the fog this bloomin' contraption on a doorstep."
"What was the number?" Eliza asked.
"I was so flabbergasted, I forgot to look."
"Well, really, Joe!"
"When I saw what was in the basket, I was so took, as you might say, that it was not until I was at the end of the street that I thought of looking for the number. And then it was too late to swear to the house."
"In Grosvenor Square?" said Harriet.
"I'm not percisely sure. The fog was so thick in Mayfair you could hardly see your hand before you. It may have been one of them cross streets going into Park Lane."
"A nice one you are, Joe." And Eliza began to croon softly to the babe in her arms.
Kelly stroked his head perplexedly.
"I am," he said, solemnly. "A proper guy I'll look when I take it to the Yard tomorrow and they ask me how I come by it."
"Take it to the where?" asked Eliza sharply.
"To Scotland Yard the first thing in the morning, to the Lost Property Department."
"There's going to be no Scotland Yard for this sweet lamb."
