“They’ve got him,” cried the sentry eagerly. “Got him?” he shouted.
“No,” cried the constable, running into the hall, hot and panting. “He threw a great ottoman out of the window, and didn’t jump. Keep that door; we must search the house.”
The search began, and it was not until every nook and corner had been hunted over that the men stood looking at one another in the hall.
“A pretty mess you’ve made of this, Mr Gilderoy!” cried the constable, at last.
“Two-fifty thrown into the gutter by your bad management,” groaned the other.
“P’r’aps you’d better go and search all London now,” said Hopper, with a sneer, “for he can’t be far off.”
The men turned upon him angrily.
“We haven’t done yet,” said the constable. “We must have some one for this. The law can’t be resisted for nothing.”
“I’m ready to give up,” said Tom quietly.
“You’ll do nothing of the kind,” cried Hopper, hastily pushing him away. “Here, you there! don’t be fools. Come in here. The man’s gone—off by the front door. What have you got to say to that?”