“What?” I said.
“Shove! bang! Some one seemed to jump right on me, and drove me up against a door—bang, and I was knocked into a passage. ’Course I turned sharply to hit out, but five or six fellows had rushed in after me, and they shoved me along that passage and out into a yard, and then through another door, and before I knew where I was they’d got me down and were sitting on me.”
“But didn’t you holler out, or cry for help?”
“He says didn’t I holler out, or shout for help! I should just think I did; but before I’d opened my mouth more than twice they’d stuffed some dirty old rag in,—I believe it was some one’s pocket-hankychy,—and then they tied another over it and behind my head to keep it in, right over my nose too, and there I was.”
“But you saw the men,” said Gunson, who was deeply interested.
“Oh yes, I saw ’em. One of ’em was that long-haired chap; and it was him whose hands run so easy into my pockets, and who got off my coat and weskit, and slit up my shirt like this so as to get at the belt I had on with my money in it. He had that in a moment, the beggar! and then if he didn’t say my braces were good ’uns and he’d change. They were good ’uns too, real leather, as a saddler—”
“Well?” said Gunson. “What took place then?”
“Nothing; only that long-haired chap grinned at me and kicked me twice. ’Member that policeman as took us up, Mr Gordon?”
“Yes.”
“I only wish I could hand that long-haired chap over to him. Strikes me they’d cut his hair very short for him before they let him go.”