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Updated: June 7, 2025
Then he snatched a partially consumed truncheon from the fire, and stood white and trembling before the astonished Mr. Gunnill. "What's the matter?" inquired the latter. "You you've spoilt 'em," gasped Mr. Sims. "What of it?" said Mr. Gunnill, staring. "I was going to take 'em away," stammered Mr. Sims. "Well, they'll be easier to carry now," said Mr. Drill, simply. Mr.
To his surprise, Mr. Gunnill started up from his chair and, gripping his hand, shook it fervently. He looked round, and Selina was regarding him with a glance so tender that he lost his head completely. Before he had recovered he had pledged himself to lay the helmet and truncheon of the redoubtable Mr. Cooper at the feet of Miss Gunnill; exact date not specified.
"Yes, you've done your share," said Miss Gunnill, with a half-glance at Mr. Drill, who was still gazing in a bewildered fashion at the trophies. "You can come into the kitchen and help me draw some beer if you like." Mr. Sims followed her joyfully, and reaching down a jug for her watched her tenderly as she drew the beer.
All women love valour, but Miss Gunnill, gazing sadly at the slight figure of Mr. Sims, could not help wishing that Mr. Drill possessed a little of his spirit. She had just finished her task when a tremendous bumping noise was heard in the living-room, and the plates on the dresser were nearly shaken off their shelves. "What's that?" she cried.
Gunnill, almost without his knowledge, uttered a deprecatory cough. His daughter turned with alarming swiftness and, holding herself very upright, favoured him with a glance in which indignation and surprise were very fairly mingled. "That white one that one at the end," said Mr. Gunnill, with an appearance of concentrated interest, "that's my fav'rite."
"When I say that I know who did it," he said, slowly, "I mean that I have my suspicions." "Don't call on me as a witness, that's all, continued Mr. Drill." "Ah," said Mr. Drill, "that's a very different thing." "Nothing like the same," said Mr. Gunnill, pouring the constable a glass of ale. Mr. Jenkins drank it and smacked his lips feebly.
"He had to leave the force," replied her father; "he couldn't stand the disgrace of it. The chap that pushed him over was quite a little chap, too. About the size of Herbert here." Mr. Sims started. "Very much like him in face, too," pursued Mr. Gunnill; "daring chap he was." Miss Gunnill sighed. "I wish he lived in Little-stow," she said, slowly. "I'd give anything to take that horrid Mrs.
"Never mind about deceiving," interrupted the constable. "What are you going to do about it?" "What are you?" inquired Mr. Gunnill, hardily. "It seems to me it's between you and him; you'll very likely be dismissed from the force, and all through trying to deceive. I wash my hands of it."
"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.
Gunnill coughed again. "I was dreaming," pursued Miss Gunnill, plaintively, "sleeping peacefully, when I was awoke by a horrible noise." "That couldn't ha' been me," protested her father. "I was only a bit cheerful. It was Benjamin Ely's birthday yesterday, and after we left the Lion they started singing, and I just hummed to keep 'em company.
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