The cloaked figure was moving swiftly, yet in a cautious fashion, pausing at the corner of the house to look up and down the road before venturing further. Mr Stubbs stopped too, effacing himself in the shadows, and realized, when the quarry made a dart across the road, that Mr Peabody must be enjoying a session in the taproom, saw dimly that the unknown female (or male) was hurrying down the road under cover of the hedge, and bounced into the inn, loudly calling on Mr Peabody for support.
Mr Peabody, ever-zealous, hastened to his side, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. When he heard the glorious news, he stayed only to pick up his cudgel, and ran out with Mr Stubbs in pursuit of the fugitive.
“It were that self-same abigail, William,” panted Mr Stubbs. “All along I thought—too big for a female! There he goes!”
Hearing the sounds of heavy-footed pursuit, the figure ahead looked once over its shoulder, and then broke into a run. Mr Stubbs had no more breath to spare for speech, but Mr Peabody, a leaner man, managed to shout: “Halt!”
The figure ahead showed signs of flagging; the Runners, getting their second wind, began to gain upon it, and in a few moments had reached it, and grabbed at the enveloping cloak, gasping: “In the name of the Law!”
The figure spun round, and landed Mr Stubbs a facer that made his nose bleed.
“Mind his pops, Jerry!” cried Mr Peabody, grappling with the foe. “Lordy, what a wild cat! Ah, would you, then!”
Mr Stubbs caught the figure’s left arm in a crushing grip, and panted: “I arrest you in the name of the Law!”
The captive said in a low, breathless voice: “Let me go! Let me go at once!”
“You’re coming along of us, that’s what you’re going to do,” replied Mr Stubbs.