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"You'd no business to lend it," said Drill, interrupting the constable's indignant retort; "especially for Sims to pretend that he had stolen it from Cooper. It's a roundabout sort of thing, but you can't tell of Mr. Gunnill without getting into trouble yourself." "I shall have to put up with that," said the constable, desperately; "it's got to be explained.
Drill had just plucked up sufficient courage to take her hand when footsteps stopped at the house, the handle of the door was turned, and, for the second time that evening, the inflamed visage of Mr. Jenkins confronted the company. "Don't tell me it's a failure," said Mr. Gunnill, starting from his chair. "You must have been handling it roughly. It was as good as new when you took it away." Mr.
Gunnill, with an air of cold dignity. "Why," said Mr. Drill, "what I mean is look at that night, for instance, when " He broke off suddenly, even his enthusiasm not being proof against the extraordinary contortions of visage in which Mr. Gunnill was indulging. "When?" prompted Selina and Mr. Sims together. Mr. Gunnill, after first daring him with his eye, followed suit.
Gunnill patted him on the back. "I fancy I can see him running bare-headed through the town calling for help," he said, smiling. Mr. Sims shook his head. "Like as not it'll be kept quiet for the credit of the force," he said, slowly, "unless, of course, they discover who did it." A slight shade fell on the good-humoured countenance of Mr.
Gunnill, more relieved than he cared to confess, thoughtfully closed his eyes. "I didn't think all along that you'd let Herbert outdo you," said Selina. "I want to outdo him," said Mr. Drill, in a voice of much meaning. Miss Gunnill cast down her eyes and Mr.
The only thing that had escaped injury was the metal plate with the number. "Why don't you mend it?" he inquired, at last. "Mend it?" shouted the incensed Mr. Jenkins. "Why don't you?" "I think I could," said Mr. Drill, slowly; "give me half an hour in the kitchen and I'll try." "Have as long as you like," said Mr. Gunnill.
"That night at the Crown," said Mr. Drill, awkwardly. "You know; when you thought that Joe Baggs was the landlord. You tell 'em; you tell it best. I've roared over it." "I don't know what you're driving at," said the harassed Mr. Gunnill, bitterly. "H'm!" said Mr. Drill, with a weak laugh. "I've been mixing you up with somebody else." Mr.
I wasn't singing, mind you, only humming when up comes that interfering Cooper and takes me off." Miss Gunnill shivered, and with her pretty cheek in her hand sat by the window the very picture of despondency. "Why didn't he take the others?" she inquired. "Ah!" said Mr. Gunnill, with great emphasis, "that's what a lot more of us would like to know. P'r'aps if you'd been more polite to Mrs.
The body of the constable garbed in plain clothes followed the face and, standing before him in a menacing fashion, held out a broken helmet and staff. "Have you seen these afore?" he inquired, in a terrible voice. "No," said Mr. Gunnill, with an attempt at surprise. "What are they?" "I'll tell you what they are," said Police-constable Jenkins, ferociously; "they're my helmet and truncheon.
Miss Gunnill put her hands together, and a look of infinite long-suffering came upon her face, but she made no reply. "Always has been," continued Mr. Gunnill, feverishly, "from a from a cutting." "Bailed out," said Miss Gunnill, in a deep and thrilling voice; "bailed out at one o'clock in the morning, brought home singing loud enough for half-a-dozen, and then talking about flowers!" Mr.
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