‘It’s me; it’s Rupert,’ he shouted.
But his words were drowned in the chorus of alarm that rose when he knocked at the door. And the leopard? In the midst of the babel of voices a bolt was drawn, the door opened. Rupert sprang out and turned to shut the door. But his feet and arms and head were entangled in strings, and he fell to the ground.
‘It’s me; it’s Rupert,’ he shouted; ‘shut the door! The real leopard’s inside!’
‘Why!’ said the leopard’s owner—he who had thrown the net over Rupert—‘it’s a beastly boy, dressed up.’ He spoke in tones of deep disgust.
There was a crowd of people. The three C.’s had managed to scale the wall by means of a pear-tree. They had brought back William—a prey to secret laughter, and the leopard’s owner, and a dozen other people. A score of hands helped to loose Rupert from the net.
‘Oh, I don’t know. I did it for a lark. To take a rise out of some one. But I’ve been paid out. The leopard’s in there. I touched it, in the dark.’
Sensation!
‘There,’ said William to the policeman, ‘I told you half an hour ago there was a good chance the beast ’ad taken cover in the passage, and you would have it you see his tail up a tree somewhere, and wouldn’t go down.’