What the doctor answered to this I cannot say. Just as the officer had done speaking, I heard footsteps approaching the room in which I was listening. Was Screw looking for me? I instantly closed the peephole and got behind the door. It opened back upon me, and, sure enough, Screw entered cautiously.
An empty old wardrobe stood opposite the door. Evidently suspecting that I might have taken the alarm and concealed myself inside it, he approached it on tiptoe. On tiptoe also I followed him; and, just as his hands were on the wardrobe door, my hands were on his throat. He was a little man, and no match for me. I easily and gently laid him on his back, in a voiceless and half-suffocated state—throwing myself right over him, to keep his legs quiet. When I saw his face getting black, and his small eyes growing largely globular, I let go with one hand, crammed my empty plaster of Paris bag, which lay close by, into his mouth, tied it fast, secured his hands and feet, and then left him perfectly harmless, while I took counsel with myself how best to secure my own safety.
I should have made my escape at once; but for what I heard the officer say about the men who were waiting outside. Were they waiting near or at a distance? Were they on the watch at the front or the back of the house? I thought it highly desirable to give myself a chance of ascertaining their whereabouts from the talk of the officers in the next room, before I risked the possibility of running right into their clutches on the outer side of the door.
I cautiously opened the peephole once more.
The doctor appeared to be still on the most friendly terms with his vigilant guardians from Bow Street.
“Have you any objection to my ringing for some lunch, before we are all taken off to London together?” I heard him ask in his most cheerful tones. “A glass of wine and a bit of bread and cheese won’t do you any harm, gentlemen, if you are as hungry as I am.”
“If you want to eat and drink, order the victuals at once,” replied one of the runners, sulkily. “We don’t happen to want anything ourselves.”
“Sorry for it,” said the doctor. “I have some of the best old Madeira in England.”
“Like enough,” retorted the officer sarcastically. “But you see we are not quite such fools as we look; and we have heard of such a thing, in our time, as hocussed wine.”
“O fie! fie!” exclaimed the doctor merrily. “Remember how well I am behaving myself, and don’t wound my feelings by suspecting me of such shocking treachery as that!”