Bony sat down on the broad bench which was to serve him as a bed. His clear blue eyes were bright and twinkling with mirth whilst his long slim fingers made a cigarette with the usual hump in the middle. Often had he been threatened with arrest by policemen who knew him only as a station hand, but this was the first time he had been jailed. His cell was clean but too warm for comfort beneath its iron roof, the air being admitted only through a barred opening in the roof and a small iron grille in the door. Philosophically he placed his swag of blankets and personal gear as a pillow for his head and laid himself along the bench and smoked whilst pondering on the advisability or otherwise of presenting his credentials to Sergeant Marshall. Eventually he would have to do so, but there were certain advantages to be gained by remaining incognito for a week or so.

He had been there for probably an hour when he heard movement outside the door as though a box or case was being placed against it. A moment later he saw a pair of large dark grey eyes gazing steadily at him through the grille. He swung his feet off the bench and sat up.

“Good afternoon,” he said politely.

The steady appraisal continued, inquiring, assessing. Bony stood, whereupon a sweetly childish voice ordered:

“Stay where you are or I’ll go away.”

“Very well,” he said, and sat down. “Now that you have looked me over carefully enough, what do you think of me?”

“What’s your name?”came the faint echo of the sergeant’s voice.

“Bony.”

“Bony! Bony what?”

“Just Bony. Everyone calls me Bony. What’s yours?”

“I am Rose Marie. I’m eight. My father’s a policeman.”

“Rose Marie,” Bony repeated slowly. “What a beautiful name.”