"Disguised theirselves gen'rally," said Artie without enthusiasm, "an' went an' walked out with the maids."
"Well, why don't you do that?"
"I ain't no 'and at disguises," sighed Artie, gazing sadly at his regulation boots. "I sh'd 'ave all the kids in the village runnin' arter me."
Mrs. Rudd followed the direction of her nephew's eyes, and forbore to press the point further.
"Besides," resumed P.C. Jobling after a little reflection, "they say that the maids in this 'ere 'ouse is niggers, an' none too respectable at that. 'Orrible things might 'appen."
He brooded darkly on the possibility.
"Well, if you don't do something we shall 'ave 'orrible things 'appening any'ow," said Mrs. Rudd. "Sure as fate we'll all be murdered. I was saying to-day to Mrs. Green...."
"If I went," interrupted Artie, struck with a new thought, "they might murder me."
"They might," agreed his aunt, "an' they might not. Any'ow, that's what you're 'ere for, Artie. If anybody in this village is to be murdered it ought to be you, Artie. It's your plain dooty. If you ain't goin' to do it, you ought to be in the trenches."
Constable Jobling stared at her without a word. This view of his mission in life had never been brought to his notice before. Apparently it disconcerted him no little.