“Well, I s’pose he wouldn’t make it very pleasant for you, youngster. There, come: get up, and you shall tell the inspector, too, all about it.”
“No, no, no,” I cried wildly, as in spite of his efforts to get me up I still clung to his leg.
“Come, none of that, you know. I shall have to carry you. Get up.”
He seized me more roughly, and dragged me to my feet, when with a hoarse cry of dread, I made a dash to escape, freed my arm and ran for freedom once again, as if it were for my life.
Chapter Thirteen.
P.C. Revitts.
In my blind fear of capture I did not study which way I went, but doubling down the first turning I came to, I ran on, and then along the next, to stop short directly afterwards, being sharply caught by the constable from whom I had fled, and who now held me fast.
“Ah! you thought it, did you?” he said coolly, while, panting and breathless, I feebly struggled to get away. “But it won’t do, my lad. You’ve got to come along o’ me.”