It was quite dark, and Mr Linnett took a pair of handcuffs from his pocket, and tucking his umbrella under his arm, playfully fitted them on his own wrists.
“No,” he said; “they wouldn’t look well there.”
Chapter Twenty Nine.
The Party breaks up.
“Dinner over, of course, Preenham?”
“Oh, dear, yes, sir,” said that worthy, taking Artis’s hat and cane. “Carriage was ordered for half-past seven, and they’ve gone to the theatre, sir.”
“Gone where?”
“Theatre, sir—Haymarket, sir.”