“He’s gone up the chimney, that’s what he’s done,” said the tenor.
“That’s what he’s done,” said the bass, putting the matter in his own way, “he’s gone up the chimney.”
William Bailey put his head in and looked up the flue, the top of which was a little square of blue June sunlight above. “I don’t see him,” said he.
The constables, one after the other, solemnly performed the same feat.
“A man couldn’t get up that,” said Bailey stoutly.
“Ah, Stappy could,” said the bass in a tone of one who talks of an old acquaintance, “Stappy could get out of anywhere, or through anything! He’s a wonderful man, sir!”
Suddenly the tenor solved the whole business.
“He’s on the roof!” he said.
Nothing would suit them but ladders must be brought, and they must climb upon the slates, while William Bailey, consoling himself with the thought that the property was not his, took the opportunity of dashing up to the bathroom and banging at the door.
“Dimmy, Dimmy!” he whispered loudly, “Dimmy, get out.”