"Don't worry, sir, I'll take him myself."
This to the doctor, whose joke had gone completely over the Sergeant's head.
For three-quarters of an hour, Hector and the doctor awaited the Sergeant's return at the office. At two a.m. precisely, enter a tableau:
Two solemn constables, one on each side of a battered wreck in hand-cuffs, like supporters to a battered shield; the wreck, clothes torn, face blue; Sergeant Savage, the bulldog, both eyes blackened, nose swollen, tunic torn up the back and spattered with gore. The Sergeant at his full height did not reach to the sagging shoulder of the wreck.
"Well?" said Hector.
The doctor's eyes twinkled but the Superintendent's were very stern.
The Sergeant saluted with a whisk and a clash of spurred heels.
"Sir——" said the Sergeant, "I proceeded direct to the Cash-In saloon; left the patrol outside; spotted the prisoner in a corner, drinking; arrested him. He drew a gun and pointed it at me, contrary to sections 105 and 109 of the Criminal Code. We struggled. Finally, I got the handcuffs on him and handed him over to the patrol. I regret to have to report, sir, that the following damage was done to Government and private property——"
Here the bulldog produced his notebook and read:
"'Tunic torn and blood-stained; three chairs smashed; twenty glasses smashed——' that was when we hit the bar, sir—'table smashed; wall bloodstained; panel of door smashed.' That's all, sir."