Presently footsteps were heard approaching; but no signal: it proved to be only a fellow in a smock-frock rolling home from the public-house.
Just as his footsteps died away a low hoot like a plaintive owl was heard, and they knew their game was afoot.
Presently, tramp, tramp, came the slow and stately march of him they had hunted down.
He came very slowly, like one lost in meditation: and these amateur policemen's hearts beat louder and louder, as he drew nearer and nearer.
At last in the blackness of the night a shadowy outline was visible; another tramp or two, it was upon them.
Now the cautious Mr. Green had stipulated that the pocketbook should first be felt for, and, if not there, the matter should go no farther. So Edward made a stumble and fell against Mr. Hardie and felt his left breast: the pocket-book was there:—“Yes,” he whispered: and Mr. Hardie, in the act of remonstrating at his clumsiness, was pinned behind, and his arms strapped with wonderful rapidity and dexterity. Then first he seemed to awake to his hunger, and uttered a stentorian cry of terror, that rang through the night and made two of his three captors tremble.
“Cut that” said Green sternly, “or you'll get into trouble.”
Mr. Hardie lowered his voice directly: “Do not kill me, do not hurt me,” he murmured; “I am but a poor man now. Take my little money; it is in my waistcoat pocket; but spare my life. You see I don't resist.”
“Come, stash your gab, my lad,” said Green contemptuously, addressing him just as he would any other of the birds he was accustomed to capture. “It's not your stiff that is wanted, but Captain Dodd's.”
“Captain Dodd's?” cried the prisoner with a wonderful assumption of innocence.