But this was only for a moment. He turned. The paragon saw the movement, and fled for his life. Across the garden he moved with the speed and noise of a fire-engine. He gained the house. He leaped up the narrow stairs. He plunged into the inmost recess of the building, which chanced to be Mr. Minnidick's attic.
"Get out o' ther way!" he roared to Chloe and Mrs. Verulam, "or I'll throw yer out o' the winder!"
"Really, Mr. Bush——" began Mrs. Verulam.
"'Really, Mr. Bush,' be blasted!" he roared, and flinging himself upon the ground with a noise like thunder, he endeavoured to conceal himself beneath the truckle-bed of his retainer.
But the paragon was large, and the truckle-bed was small, and as the less cannot contain the greater, Mr. Bush's situation when the Duke bounded into the chamber was merely that of the ostrich. His head, it is true, was concealed from sight, but the whole of his gigantic body was visible and to be got at. The Duke got at it, and despite Mrs. Verulam's cries of alarm, rolled with it down the staircase into the garden, just as a large bus, containing the Bun Emperor, Mr. Harrison, the four remaining detectives and four police-constables in full uniform, their truncheons drawn in their hands, drove up to the wicket-gate.
"Help!" roared Mr. Bush, while Mr. Rodney leaned up against the mushroom-house half dead with terror at the vision of Mrs. Verulam and the orange-grower fluttering forth from the paragon's abode. "Help!"
"There's your man—oh, indeed; most certainly; by all means—there he lies!" cried Mr. Harrison to the police-constables, pointing to Mr. Bush.
"Arrest him! arrest him!" shouted the Bun Emperor. "Take my property from him!"
The constables pulled the Duke off the paragon.