“Hullo! Hullo!” said a gruff voice. “What’s this? Housebreaking, indeed!”
Mr. Verney had stooped for the lantern, and as he rose the policeman—for he it was—seized him also.
“You’d better come along with me,” the policeman said, “and make no trouble about it. The less trouble you make, the easier it’ll be for you before the magistrates.”
WHILE MARY HELD THE LANTERN, HE WORKED AWAY AT THE FASTENINGS.
“But look here,” Mr. Verney said, “you’re making a mistake. We’re not housebreaking.”
The policeman laughed. “Now, that’s a good’un,” he said. “Dark lantern, screw-driver, hammer, eleven o’clock at night, Thomas Barnes’ shed—and you’re not housebreaking! Perhaps you’ll tell me what you are doing, you and your audacious female accomplice here. Playing hide-and-seek, I suppose?”
“Well,” said Mr. Verney, suddenly striking a match with his free hand, and holding it up so that the light fell full on his own and on Mary’s face, “we’ll tell you the whole story.”
“Miss Stavely!” cried the policeman, “and Mr. Verney. Well, this is a start. But what does it all mean?”
Then Mr. Verney told the story, first making Dobbs promise not to tell it again.