"Yes, There's Mr. Otton, the beadle of St. Dunstan's, lives opposite, as you well know, and he's a constable. Run over the way and fetch him, this minute."
She began hastily to descend the stairs, and the shoemaker followed her, remonstrating, for the idea of fetching a constable, and making him and his house the talk of the whole neighbourhood, was by no means a proposition that met with his approval. The lady was positive, however, and Mr. Otton, the beadle of St. Dunstan's, was brought from over the way, and the case stated to him at length.
"Conwulsions!" exclaimed Otton, "what can I do?"
"Burst open the door," said the lady.
"Burst a door open, mum! What is you a thinking on? Why, that's contrary to Habus Corpus, mum, and all that sort of thing. Conwulsions, mum! you mustn't do it. But I tell you what, now, will be the thing."
Here Mr. Otton put his finger to the side of his nose, and looked so cunning that you would hardly have believed it possible.
"What?—what?"
"Why, suppose, mum, we ask Mr. Todd, next door, to give us leave to go up into his attic, and get out at the window and look in at yours, mum?"
"That'll do. Run in—"
"Me!" cried the shoemaker. "Oh, M—Mr. Todd is a strange man—a very strange man—not at all a neighbourly sort of man, and I don't like to go to him.—I won't go, that's flat—unless, my love, you particularly wish it."