“Of course, if you mean to say that you were one o' them burglars,” continued the constable, “why, say it and I'll take you with pleasure. Come to think of it, I did seem to remember one o' their voices.”
Mr. Grummit, with his eyes fixed on the other's, backed a couple of yards and breathed heavily.
“About your height, too, he was,” mused the constable. “I hope for your sake you haven't been saying to anybody else what you said to me just now.”
Mr. Grummit shook his head. “Not a word,” he faltered.
“That's all right, then,” said Mr. Evans. “I shouldn't like to be hard on a neighbour; not that we shall be neighbours much longer.”
Mr. Grummit, feeling that a reply was expected of him, gave utterance to a feeble “Oh!”
“No,” said Mr. Evans, looking round disparagingly. “It ain't good enough for us now; I was promoted to sergeant this morning. A sergeant can't live in a common place like this.”
Mr. Grummit, a prey to a sickening fear, drew near the fence again. “A— a sergeant?” he stammered.
Mr. Evans smiled and gazed carefully at a distant cloud. “For my bravery with them burglars the other night, Grummit,” he said, modestly. “I might have waited years if it hadn't been for them.”
He nodded to the frantic Grummit and turned away; Mr. Grummit, without any adieu at all, turned and crept back to the house.