“Now then,” said the constable, “I’ll have one round his middle; give me a piece of rope; I’ll soon do that.”
He seized the rope, and, without rising, rapidly secured it to one side of the ladder.
“Now,” he said, “raise that end.”
This was done, the rope passed under Mike, drawn up on the other side, hauled upon till Mike yelled for mercy, and then knotted twice.
“There, my lads,” said the constable, rising; “now turn him over.”
The ladder was seized, turned, and there lay Mike on his back, safely secured.
“Here, undo these,” he said, sullenly. “I’ll walk.”
“Too late, Mike, my boy. Now then, a couple of men head and tail. Let the ladder hang at arm’s length. Best have given in quietly, and not have made yourself a show, Mike.”
“Don’t I tell you I’ll walk?” growled the prisoner. “And let us have all our trouble for nothing? No, my lad, it’s too late. Ready there! Up with him. Good morning, sir. March!”
The men lent themselves eagerly to the task, for Mike was thoroughly disliked; and a few minutes later there was a crowd gathering and following Mike Bannock as he was borne off, spread-eagled and half tipsy, to ponder on the theft and his chances in the cold damp place known in Bristol as the lock-up.