“How dare you, thir! Handth off, or I’ll have the law againtht you for falthe imprithonment; and ith more than your plathe ith worth to——”
“Take her out—take the woman out, if she will not be quiet,” said the magistrate.
“At your peril,” exclaimed Mrs. Dibble, amidst increasing laughter.
“Then out with her!” exclaimed the magistrate, losing his temper; and Mrs. Dibble speedily disappeared, struggling between two policemen, and bursting her hooks-and-eyes in the most extraordinary fashion.
“I asked the woman of the house,” went on the imperturbable policeman, “to show me Paul Somerton’s bedroom. She took me up-stairs, and pointed a room out to me which she said was his. I asked if the box beneath the dressing-table was Paul Somerton’s, and she said it was. I broke it open, and found at the bottom, beneath some clothes, the purse now produced. I then went to the offices of the Meter Ironworks and apprehended the prisoner.”
“Is this your purse, Mr. Gibbs?” the magistrate inquired.
“It is,” was that gentleman’s reply.
“And the contents now are the same as when you lost it?”
“They are, sir,” said Mr. Gibbs.
“Have you any questions to ask the policeman?” the magistrate inquired, addressing Mr. Williamson.