"Let me kill him!" said his Grace. "Let me kill the scoundrel!"
"Not till he's been hanged for stealing my property!" shouted the Emperor, ablaze with passion.
"For Heaven's sake, don't make a scene before the ladies!" shrieked Mr. Rodney.
"Rely on me—oh, indeed, most certainly, in all circumstances rely on me!" cried Mr. Harrison, doing nothing, with starting eyes.
The police stood firm. They planted the paragon on his feet, held him by the scruff of his neck, turned out his pockets, and revealed the silver whisky-bottle and the gold presentation cigar-case.
"What did I say?" cried Mr. Harrison—"what did I at all times and ever say? Oh, indeed!"
Nobody seemed to know or care, and at this moment attention was diverted by the appearance of the Duchess from the mushroom-house and the faithful Marriner from the wicket-gate. The Duchess tottered feebly forward, grasping the early Victorian dressing-gown with both hands.
"Crikey!" cried the boy with the sharply-pointed nose; "it's the innercent lydy! She ain't stifled!"
And he nearly dropped with childish disappointment.