“P’raps not,” said the sergeant; “but if it hadn’t been for that poor fellow, you might have looked queer.”
Hearing the old fellow grumble seemed to rouse me, and I still went on listening.
“It’s been a stiff fight, sir,” said the sergeant; “and that young fellow—”
“And you, sergeant,” I said feebly.
“Oh, come; that’s cheering,” said he with a pleasant look, which went right over his shining face.
You can’t tell how pleased I felt to be able to use my tongue once more, but there was no work in me, and there I lay watching the sergeant give a look at the two prisoners, and examine the handcuffs to see that all was right, when all at once the fellow I had such a struggle with, sprang up and fetched the sergeant the most savage of kicks in the knee—one which sent him staggering back—when, in spite of all that has been said about the police using their staves, I’m sure no one could have blamed that sergeant for bringing his staff down on the fellow’s head, and striking him to the ground, where, as he lay, I had a good look at him.
And a nice specimen of humanity he looked—a great six-foot fellow, strong as a horse, while my impression is that, if the sergeant had not come so opportunely to my aid, you would not have heard this story. But the fellow was tolerably knocked about. Ah! and so was the sergeant, while, no doubt, I should have been stunned at first if the chap had not been taken in by my shallow trick.
A nice little affair that was, and I saw that I had only just got up in time, for there were two carpet-bags on the floor crammed full of plate—silver dishes and tea and coffee pots, while all the small parts were filled out with forks and spoons.
All at once the old gentleman, who had been shivering about as far off the burglars as he could, seemed to catch sight of my half-crown gentleman’s face—a face that he had not appeared so far to be very proud of, for he had kept it hung down over his waistcoat the greater part of the time—when all at once the old gentleman stood still and exclaimed:—
“Why, you scoundrel, it’s you, is it?” and the fellow only shrunk down more of a heap, while the old gentleman was so enraged, that he made believe to shoot the rascal with his blunderbuss, when the sergeant made no more ado, but went and took it away from him.