"What for?"
"For me, being at a distance, to hear it. For me hearing it, to run to your assistance. Do you twig? My being on your beat must be accounted for. That will account for it."
This ingenious suggestion relieved Constable Wigg's mind as well as his comrade's.
"That's a good idea," he said; "and it'll account, too, for our being in the house, supposing anything should be said about it."
"Exactly. Being here with Mrs. Middlemore's permission. You've got a lot to learn, Wigg, and one of the lessons I'd advise you to take to heart"--here he looked significantly at Mrs. Middlemore--"is not to poach on a pal's preserves."
Constable Wigg may have felt the reproach, but he took no notice of it. "You may as well come to the door with me, Nightingale."
"I've no objections."
"I'll come too," said Mrs. Middlemore, nervously. "I wouldn't be left alone here for anythink you could orfer me."
The three walked upstairs to the passage, Mrs. Middlemore needing the support of Constable Nightingale's arm round her waist; but the moment the fastenings of the street-door were unloosed, it flew open as though a battering ram had been applied to it, and the wind and snow swept in upon them with undiminished fury.
"Hanged if it ain't getting worse and worse!" muttered Constable Nightingale, helping the others to shut the door, which was accomplished with great difficulty.