The passenger behind Mr. Slumper turned suddenly and brushed against him. At the touch on his shoulder the poor devil started frightfully and drew in his breath with a hoarse whoop. The face that he turned to the offender was a wet grey….
In front of them there were only two, now—one. They were in the jaws of the barrier…. Mr. Slumper had not the power to present his tickets, and the inspector took the pasteboard out of his shaking hand. He clipped it and handed it back, staring. Mr. Slumper fumbled, and the tickets fell to the ground. He stooped drunkenly, and the inspector put a hand under his arm.
"Gent ill 'ere, Joe," he threw over his shoulder, apparently addressing a colleague, whom Anthony could not see. "Give 'im a 'and up the platform."
Anthony heaved a sigh of relief.
The next moment he saw a burly station-constable—presumably "Joe"—step into view and put a broad arm tenderly about his master's back…
Mr. Slumper stiffened and stood quivering with the peculiar vibration of a wire that is taut. The ridiculous figure attached to him stood still also, rolling its head foolishly.
"Come along, sir," urged the official in a kindly tone.
Mr. Slumper stopped shaking, took out his handkerchief, and wiped his face. Then he turned to the speaker.
"It's all right," he said. "I'll go quietly."
Anthony turned on his heel and walked out of the station.