One of the magistrates who saw it looked up and asked genially:—
“You don’t mean to say it was one of those young gentlemen, prisoner?”
“Bless you, sir, likely as not. They young gentlemen, sir, always spare a trifle for a honest—”
“Yes, yes; we don’t want all that! If you have no more questions to ask the constable, the constable may stand down.”
The constable stood down, and a brief consultation again ensued between the Bench and the clerk which Dick, firmly believing that it referred to him, watched with terrible interest.
“Yes,” said the magistrate, looking up, “we remand the case for a week.”
Dick breathed again. The storm had blown over after all. Not only had he himself escaped punishment for conspiring against the ends of justice, but Tom White had still another week during which something might turn up.
The court emptied rapidly as the case ended.
“Rather hot! wasn’t it?” said Duffield, as the five found themselves outside, solacing themselves with the last “go” of the creams.
“Awful!” said the “Firm” from the bottom of their hearts, and feeling that many afternoons like this would materially shorten their days.