“If they 'd let me go my hands, I 've something to give you,” said the boy, who, although sorely bruised and beaten, seemed to care less for his own troubles than for the object of his enterprise.
At a word from Daly, the policemen relinquished their hold, and stood guard on either side, while the boy, giving himself a shake, leered up in Daly's face with an expression he could not fail to recognize.
“There's a way to treat a young gentleman at home for the Christmas holidays!” said the imp, with a compassionate glance at his torn and tattered garments, while the words and the tone they were uttered in sent a shout of laughter through the mob.
“What, Jemmy!” said Daly, stooping down and accosting him in a whisper, for it was no other than that reputable youth himself, “you here?”
“Just so, sir. Ain't I in a nice way to appear at the Privy Council?”
The police were growing impatient at the continued insolence of the fellow, and were about to lay hold on him once more, when Daly interposed, and said, in a still lower voice, “Have you anything to tell me?”
“I 've a bit of paper for you somewhere, from one you know, if them blackguards the 'polis' has not made me lose it.”
“Be quick, then,” said Daly, “and see after it.” For Darcy was chafed at a delay he could not see any reason for.
“Here it is,” said the imp, taking a piece of dirty and crumpled paper from the lining of his hat; “there, you have it now safe and sure. Give my best respects to Alderman Darby,” added he to the police; “say I was too hurried to call;” and with that he dived between the legs of one of them, dashed through the line of soldiers, and was speedily concealed among the dense crowd outside, where shouts of approving laughter welcomed him.
“A rendezvous or a challenge, Bagenal,—which?” said the Knight, laughing, as Daly stood endeavoring, by the light of a lamp in the corridor, to decipher the torn scrawl.