"Then you refuse to confess?" Lady Knob-Kerrick glared at Bindle through her lorgnettes.
"I ain't got nothin' to confess, mum; leastways nothin' I'd like to say 'fore a lady. Look 'ere, Dicky-Bird, if you pinch my arm I'll break your bloomin' shins." This last remark was addressed to Wilton, whom Bindle examined with insulting deliberation. "Must cost a bit to keep yer in clean dickies, ole son," he remarked. Wilton writhed. Bindle suddenly caught sight of Miss Strint slipping into the room, looking very ill and obviously in a state bordering on hysteria.
"'Ello, miss, you do look bad. I hope you ain't 'urt." There was solicitude in Bindle's voice.
"I am very upset and——"
"Strint!" admonished Lady Knob-Kerrick, "please be silent. How dare you converse with this man?"
"Now look 'ere, mum, I ain't said much so far, but you're goin' to get into a bit of a mess if yer ain't careful. If you'll just call orf Dicky-Bird and Calves, I'll show yer wot an' 'oo I am. I'm a special constable, I am, and you done a fine thing to-night. P'r'aps yer know the law, p'r'aps yer don't. But this is a case for 'eavy damages. Now, Dicky-Bird, leggo!"
With a dexterous movement Bindle wrenched his arm free from Wilton's clutch, and drew his truncheon, which he flourished under the nose of his astonished captors. Thomas, fearing an attack, released the arm he held and retreated precipitately to the door.
"Thomas! Wilton!" shrieked Lady Knob-Kerrick, "hold him, don't let him escape."
"I'll keep the door, m' lady," said Thomas, his hand on the handle, his attitude that of a man solicitous as to his own safety rather than desirous of preventing another's escape.
With great deliberation Bindle produced his armlet and whistle.