“What do you want here?” said Abel, giving his sister a final scowl and then facing the head constable.
“You, my lad—you,” said that individual, with a grin.
“What for?”
“Attempted murder and robbery on the king’s highway, my lad.”
“It’s a lie! Who says so?” cried Abel, setting his teeth and fixing his sister again with his dark eyes as she gave him an imploring look.
“Never mind who says so, my lad. Information’s laid all regular against you and Master Bart Wrigley. You’re both captured neatly. Here, how long are you going to be bringing forward the other?” cried the constable.
“We can’t get him out,” shouted a voice. “He’s stuck in the little window.”
“Pull him back, then, by his legs.”
“Been trying ever so long,” said another voice, “but he won’t come.”
“I’ll soon see to that,” said the constable, backing Abel into the little bed-room which was darkened by Bart’s body filling up the window. “Here, lay hold of his legs, two of you, and give a good jerk.”