It was a regular Barnaby dance; I'd never seen anyone move so quickly. Before the culprit bolted out the door into the night,
"Owell gave me this. Said to get it to you in a Barnaby dance. 'Ere it is." His tongue scraped across his lower lip as he stared at Charity.
We were now doing a strange sort of Barnaby dance: shuffling to and fro as I blocked his attempts to set off in pursuit.
"No. Sadly, Pedro Hawkins died of a fever last Monday. That was the understudy you saw."