Suddenly he fancied that in the distance he saw a figure crossing the road, and dashed after it as hard as he could run. It turned down a street that he knew well, and, by taking a short cut, Jared felt that he should meet his enemy, if it was the object of his chase; so running down first one street and then another, he neared the bottom outlet of the place he sought, paused a moment to listen, and then could make out the dull deadened sound of coming steps in the snow, apparently nearing him slowly.
To dart round the corner, and grasp the new-comer, was the work of an instant, but it only resulted in his being grasped in return, for the organist was in the hands of the police.
“What time is it?” queried Jared, in a confused manner, as soon as he could open his lips.
“Time you was in bed, I think,” said the policeman; and Jared shrank beneath his suspicious looks.
Volume Three—Chapter Twelve.
Another Missing.
“One o’clock, mum,” said Mr James Chawner, cordwainer, and member of the society of Campanological Brothers, commonly known by the soubriquet of Beaky Jem, tenor in St Runwald’s peal. “One o’clock, mum; it’s better nor ’arf past. But if you and Miss here is so wery oneasy, I’ll get one of my mates to rouse up and search the place; that is, if you like,” thereby clearly indicating that he—Beaky Jem of the Roman nose—did not much approve of the task.
“It is so very strange,” said Mrs Jared; “he left here to go to the church, and he must be there.”