“That made me feel mad, and I went at the fellow, but he was off like a shot, dashed down the road through the gateway; and as I ran after him, followed by a lot of people and two policemen, I saw him cross the road, go right at the park railings, and he was over in a moment, and right into the shrubs.”
“And did you follow?” said Cynthia, excitedly.
“Didn’t I! But I couldn’t get over so quickly as he did, and when I dropped on the other side I was half hanging by one of the tails of my coat, for a spike had gone through it.”
“Oh, what fun,” laughed Cynthia; “how droll you must have looked.”
“I dare say I did,” he said, good-humouredly; “but it gave the rascal time to get a good start, and when I was free and ran on with the police and two more men, the scoundrel had gone goodness knows where.”
“And you did not catch him, then?”
“No, he had got clean away, Cynthy, and after we had been hunting for above an hour we had to give it up.”
“Oh, what a pity.”
“Yes, wasn’t it.”
“I don’t know, though,” said Cynthia, softly; “if you had caught him he might have hurt you, too, Harry.”