The constable, making his way to a gas-lamp, began to inspect damages.
They were worse even than he had thought, and, leaning against the
lamp-post, he sought in vain for an explanation that, in the absence of a
prisoner, would satisfy the inspector. A button which was hanging by a
thread fell tinkling on to the footpath, and he had just picked it up and
placed it in his pocket when a faint distant outcry broke upon his ear.
He turned and walked as rapidly as his condition would permit in the
direction of the noise. It became louder and more imperative, and cries
of "Police!" became distinctly audible. He quickened into a run, and
turning a corner beheld a little knot of people standing at the gate of a
large house. Other people only partially clad were hastening to-wards
them. The constable arrived out of breath.
"Better late than never," said the owner of the house, sarcastically.
Mr. Evans, breathing painfully, supported himself with his hand on the
fence.
"They went that way, but I suppose you didn't see them," continued the
householder. "Halloa!" he added, as somebody opened the hall door and
the constable's damaged condition became visible in the gas-light.
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