“Serge! Francis! Frank!”
He closed the door and ran after his father and the constable, who were already some way up the street.
At the police-station they were kept for some time in the waiting-room until, escorted by a brawny officer, old Lawrie appeared before them. He was clearly only just roused from sleep. He looked extremely disreputable, with his hat hanging over one eye and his bushy white hair sticking out under the hat. His white beard was filthy with mud and blood. He stood blinking at the light and peering at Francis. After a moment or two he recognised him, removed his hat, and stood with bowed head.
“This is Mr. Folyat,” said the inspector.
“Aye.”
“Mr. Folyat will go bail for you. You must give your address, age, and occupation.”
Old Lawrie mumbled so inarticulately that Francis was appealed to. He gave the address, age, and occupation of Bennett’s father.
After a formality or two they were shown out politely, and old Lawrie was bidden to attend in court the next morning.
He said:
“Aye.”