Up on the roof, Officer Garroway started as a war-horse at the sound of the bugle. He knew that voice. And, if it should seem remarkable that he should have remembered it after so many days, having been in conversation with it but once, the explanation is that Mr. Waddington's voice had certain tonal qualities that rendered it individual and distinctive. You might mistake it for a squeaking file, but you could not mistake it for the voice of anybody but Sigsbee H. Waddington.
"Gosh!" said Officer Garroway, shaking like an aspen.
The voice had had its effect also on Mrs. Waddington. She started up as if the bed on which she sat had become suddenly incandescent.
"Siddown!" said Officer Garroway.
Mrs. Waddington sat down.
"My dear old constable," began Lord Hunstanton.
"Shut up!" said Officer Garroway.
Lord Hunstanton shut up.
"Gosh!" said Officer Garroway once more.
He eyed his prisoners in an agony of indecision. He was in the unfortunate position of wanting to be in two places at once. To rush down the stairs and accost the man who had sold him that stock would mean that he would have to leave these two birds, with the result that they would undoubtedly escape. And that they should escape was the last thing in the world that Officer Garroway desired. These two represented the most important capture he had made since he had joined the Force. The female bird was a detected burglar and assaulter of the police, and he rather fancied that, when he took him to headquarters and looked him up in the Rogues Gallery, the male bird would prove to be Willie the Dude, wanted in Syracuse for slipping the snide. To land them in the coop meant promotion.