“Where do you come from then? You've not been in town before. What is your father?”
“My father's dead, sir. I come from Oulton. My father was rector there.”
“Ah,” he said quietly. “Now give this penny to the bear-ward.”
While I was giving the penny to the keeper, the strange man edged among the lookers-on, apparently watching the bear's antics, till he was just behind the pickpocket's accomplice. Watching his time, he seized the boy from behind by both wrists.
“This boy's a pickpocket,” he cried aloud. “Stop that other boy. He's an accomplice.” The other boy, who had just taken a purse, started to run, letting the booty drop. A boatman who was going towards the river, tripped him up with an oar so that he fell heavily. He lay still where he had fallen (all the wind was knocked out of him) so that he was easily secured. The boy who had been seized by the bearded man made no attempt to get away. He was too firmly held. Both boys were then marched off to the nearest constable where (after a strict search), they were locked into a cellar till the morrow. The crowd deserted the bear-ward when the cry of pickpockets was raised. They followed my mysterious friend to the constable's house, hoping, no doubt, that they would be able to crowd in to hear the constable bully the boys as he searched them. One or two, who pretended to have missed things, managed to get in. The bearded man told me to come in, as he said that I should be needed as a witness. The others were driven out into the street, where, I suppose, their monkey-minds soon found other game, a horse fallen down, or a drunken woman in the gutter, to divert their idleness. Such sights seem to attract a London crowd at once.
The boys were strictly searched by the constable. The booty from their pockets was turned out upon the table.
“Now, sir,” said the constable to the bearded man, after he had made a note of my story. “What is it they 'ad of you, sir?”
“A shagreen leather pocket-book,” said the man. “There it is.”
“This one?” said the constable.
“Yes.”