A heavy tread was heard. Grace’s policeman approached with the plain-clothes man. Peter bent down to the pavement and pretended to be searching.
“Hulloa!” said Grace’s policeman. “Who’s there?”
“It’s Peter. How are you?” He continued his searching, moving away from the gate.
“Wot yer doing?” asked the plain-clothes man.
“Dropped some money. Oh well, I can’t see it. It was only sixpence.”
He straightened up.
“Cawn’t we help?” asked Grace’s policeman.
“It doesn’t matter. To-morrow’s Christmas and I’ll get more than that.”
“It’s more’n the price of a pot o’ beer,” said Grace’s policeman. “If you can afford to lose it, we can. Goodnight.”
“Good-night,” said Peter, “and a Merry Christmas.”