“There, then, not a word till I tap your arm with my flute, which you can give me as soon as we have got on to the lawn.”
The entrance was reached again, but there was no policeman in the dark nook, and, raising the latch, the lieutenant swung open the gate, and they passed through, the latch falling back into its place with a faint click which sounded terribly loud, and made them pause for a moment or two.
“Come along,” whispered the lieutenant; “on to the grass.”
“What’s your little game?”
It was a gruff whisper from out of a clump of laurustinus, and, as the stalwart figure of the policeman moved up in the darkness, the lieutenant turned to flee, but stopped short on Dick grasping his arm.
“There’s nothing wrong, constable!” said Dick, quickly.
“No; and I don’t mean for there to be! Just consider yourselves ketched! No gammon, or I whistles, and there’ll be dozens of our chaps here in no time; and, if they comes and finds you’re nasty, there won’t be no mercy—and so I tell yer!”
“Don’t be absurd,” said Dick, thinking it better to out with the truth; “we’ve only come to play a tune or two in front of the house.”
“Yes, yes!” said the lieutenant, feebly.
“Yes, yes!” cried the constable, mockingly. “I know—one on yer’s going to play a toon on the centre-bit while t’other sings the pop’lar and original air o’ ‘Gentle Jemmy in the ’ouse.’ Now, then, no gammon! Come on!”